Blood Red City

by Justin Richards

  But no, she decided. There was likely to be more than just a note of what the Vril had taken. Whatever friendship Vasilov, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s husband George had enjoyed was not hers to share. She pushed the envelope into her pocket, and went in search of Tustrum. He might have news of Guy and Leo. But whether he did or not, it was time for her to head home …

  * * *

  The Vril had scratched her as it hid from the soldiers – the same soldiers as moments earlier had shot the girl’s mother. She screamed from the pain, the last pain she ever felt. Being so small, the infection spread rapidly through the little girl’s body. So young and inexperienced, so innocent and naïve, her mind was easy to control even without a bracelet to focus the Vril influence.

  Her instructions were simple: find the rogue Ubermensch, and get the axe from him. Now it was almost within her grasp. The man with the bracelet was a problem. She had thought he was with her, was an Ubermensch. But then he had been injured, so either he was not yet fully absorbed into the Vril, or he was not an Ubermensch at all. Either way, he knew what she was, he had seen.

  Somehow Davenport managed to grab her wrists, pushing her away from him. But the girl was incredibly strong.

  ‘Help me!’ he yelled. ‘Get her off!’

  Guy and Hoffman were running, scrambling over the rubble to get to him. He felt her nails rake down his cheek, the warmth of blood. Then Hoffman was there, one arm round the girl’s waist as he dragged her away. Her legs were kicking, arms flailing. He couldn’t hold her and she broke free, hammering at Hoffman’s chest.

  The axe-head he had been holding fell from his grip and landed amongst the other fallen stone. The girl dived for it, grabbing it with both hands, scrambling off across the broken landscape.

  Guy threw himself at her, dragging her down. She swung her hand, the heavy axe connecting with his shoulder. His grip weakened, she tore herself free and was off running.

  But Davenport was back on his feet and in her way. She didn’t try to avoid him, but lowered her shoulder like a diminutive rugby player, crashing into him and sending the bigger man sprawling. He managed to grab hold of her sleeve, pulling her off balance. It slowed her down enough from Hoffman to launch himself at the girl. The axe-head went flying again and the girl wriggled out from Hoffman’s grasp and scrambled after it.

  It skidded through a doorway, falling over the threshold. The wooden floor had burned away, leaving the blackened spikes of charred timbers jutting from the remaining walls. The girl fell to the ground that was several feet below. The fall should have winded her, perhaps even fractured her leg. But she was unaffected, immediately searching round to see where the axe had fallen. Within the walls, the light from the distant fires was dimmed and the whole place was in near-darkness.

  Hoffman jumped after her, Guy and Davenport clambering down more cautiously, Davenport trying not to put weight on his injured leg. The girl eyed them cautiously. Then she caught sight of the axe, the white stone picked out in the grey ash and soot covering the ground. She ran across and picked it up. Holding it in one hand, raised like a weapon, she edged round the walls, inside the broken timbers.

  There were only two ways out of the shell of the building – back the way she had come, past Hoffman, or through a side door where Davenport was now standing. She feinted towards Hoffman, then ran at Davenport, axe raised ready to strike.

  Guy’s first shot caught her in the shoulder. It barely slowed her. The second shot hammered into her chest, knocking her sideways. But she kept coming at Davenport. He stepped aside at the last moment, so that the axe swept down onto nothing. The vicious force of the blow unbalanced her, and she stumbled into the low side wall. One of the sharp wooden joists ripped through her clothes, scraping past her side. She ignored it, and started to scramble up towards the doorway.

  Davenport grabbed for the axe as she climbed, but she swung it at him, holding on to the side wall with one arm. The blow knocked him backwards.

  Then Hoffman was there. He grabbed her round the waist with both arms, dragging her back, staggering to keep his balance as she thrashed and squirmed and hammered at him with the axe.

  ‘Now what?’ Davenport yelled.

  The sky above burst into brilliant light as a series of explosions rang out nearby. The flashes strobed across Hoffman and the girl, giving their movements the staccato quality of an old movie. As if in slow motion, Hoffman lifted the struggling girl to shoulder height. Then he shoved her violently away from him, towards the jagged, broken joists jutting out of the wall.

  Two of the wooden struts pierced her body, one erupting from her chest, the other through a shoulder. A gelatinous mass of orange tendrils squirmed out, pulsing and throbbing round the wounds. The girl screamed – the first sound any of them had heard her make. She shuddered, tensed, rocked back and forth as she tried to free herself, but she was stuck fast on the wooden stakes.

  Hoffman grabbed her hand, holding it tight in his as he prised open her fingers and removed the axe-head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly in Russian. He turned to Guy and Davenport, who were both watching in horror and disgust as the girl writhed and snarled. ‘Let’s get away from here.’

  * * *

  ‘A scratch from that creature in the Vault at Wewelsburg was all it took,’ Hoffman said.

  The three of them sat round a small fire in the cellar of what was left of a house. Davenport and Guy had food with them, but Hoffman assured them he wasn’t hungry.

  ‘It was a few hours before the infection took hold. Then I was numb. Like I didn’t know what to do. After a while, there was a voice, if I can call it that. Someone else’s thoughts inside my head – more pictures than words, feelings and cravings. I had to get one of the bracelets from the Vault.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’ Davenport said.

  ‘No. I’ve spent so long pretending to be what I’m not, locking my thoughts away and ignoring them as I play at being someone else, that I could resist the urge. When I first became German, there were times when the stress was so intense I just wanted to tell someone: “This is all a lie. I’m not Werner Hoffman at all, I’m a Russian who had the misfortune to be born to a German mother and speak her language.” It was a bit like that, resisting an overwhelming desire to do something I knew was stupid. Suicidal.’

  ‘The bracelets are how they control an Ubermensch,’ Guy said. ‘We know that.’

  ‘They don’t always need the bracelet though,’ Hoffman told them. ‘I imagine it enhances the control, amplifies it. That girl, she didn’t have a bracelet but the Vril evidently controlled her utterly. A young mind, easily influenced…’ He stared into the dancing firelight. ‘She was dead already,’ he murmured.

  ‘Tell us what happened,’ Guy said. ‘After you were infected, if that’s the right word.’

  ‘The Vril still tried to control me. I saw images of the axe-head, amongst other things. Nachten – one of Himmler’s archaeologists – he was searching for it too. But you probably know as much as I can tell you about the axes.’

  ‘We know there are three of them,’ Guy said. ‘And we know they slot into some sort of mechanism buried on the island of Crete.’

  ‘The Vril are everywhere,’ Hoffman said. ‘Thousands of years ago they came to our world.’

  ‘But what do they want?’ Davenport asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. But they are colonists, imperialists, conquerors. To be honest, I can only see what they show me, and that’s less and less each day as they realise I’m of no use to them. Some things still sort of seep through. But I couldn’t tell you if the Vril are any more active now than they have ever been. Perhaps it’s only now, as we develop flight and the ability to detect their craft and transmissions, that we’ve noticed them. Or perhaps they’ve decided we’re ready to be … harvested.’

  ‘Harvested?’ Guy said. ‘What do you mean?’

  Hoffman shrugged. ‘When the Vril first arrived, the human race was undeveloped. They’re
nothing if not patient, and incredibly long-lived by our standards. So the Vril waited until humanity reached a point in its development where we’d be useful to them. But useful for what, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Not a very pleasant thought,’ Davenport said. ‘But what do these things do?’ He pointed to the axe lying beside the fire.

  ‘The Vril left colonies here. A few of the creatures are active, but most sleep in huge hibernation caves deep below the ground.’

  ‘And there’s one of these below Crete?’ Guy guessed.

  ‘The axes are actually the keys that will unlock that chamber, and awaken a vast army of Vril. We have to stop them. Make sure they sleep on.’

  ‘Well, they only have one of the three keys,’ Davenport said. ‘So that must be a good start. We have that one, and another back in London.’

  Hoffman closed his eyes for a moment. ‘No,’ he said when he opened them again. ‘We only have this one.’ He picked up the axe-head and weighed it in his hand. ‘The one you had in London has been recovered by the Vril.’

  Guy was shocked. ‘Are you sure?’

  Hoffman nodded. ‘Certain.’

  ‘Then what’s happening back in London?’ Davenport said.

  CHAPTER 40

  She was standing at the end of the bridge, absolutely still, gazing out across the water. It had taken Alban and Miss Manners twenty minutes to find her, following different trails of wet footprints. It looked like she had been standing here all that time. Silent and still.

  ‘Let me,’ Alban said, gesturing for Miss Manners to wait. ‘You saw what she did to Green.’

  ‘She’s my friend,’ Miss Manners told him.

  But she hung back while Alban approached the woman. Passers-by were looking curiously at Jane Roylston as they passed, taking in the sodden clothes, the wet hair plastered to her scalp. Her blouse clung to her, the shape of the metal bracelet on her upper arm clearly visible through the thin material.

  ‘Miss Roylston?’ He touched her arm. She didn’t react. ‘Miss Roylston, are you all right?’

  There was no reply. Alban glanced at Miss Manners and shrugged. She joined him, and when Jane still did not respond took her friend’s arm and gently turned her away from the river.

  ‘Penelope?’ Jane said, puzzled. ‘I’m sorry. I was … waiting.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Miss Manners asked.

  ‘To be told what to do. I must know what to do.’ She frowned, and clutched at Miss Manners’ hand. ‘Do you know what I should do?’

  ‘I think you should come with us. Come on.’

  With Alban following close behind, Miss Manners guided Jane, leading her back towards the Station Z offices.

  ‘Is this a good idea?’ Alban wondered.

  ‘It’s the only idea I have. What about you?’

  ‘She seems calm enough now, I suppose.’

  Jane walked as if in a trance, not seeming to notice what was happening around her. Not hearing Alban and Miss Manners as they spoke.

  Green was already back at Station Z. He had been bruised in his encounter with Jane outside the British Museum, but was otherwise unhurt. He looked up in surprise as Jane came in, Miss Manners and Alban close behind.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Alban assured him. ‘She seems quite calm now.’

  He and Miss Manners told Green what had happened. Jane sat quietly at Sarah’s desk, her hands clasped on her lap. Her clothes were still wet, water dripping to the floor.

  ‘I checked on Mrs Archer,’ Green said, ‘after you two ran off and I lost you. She’s a bit shaken, but she’ll be all right.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Miss Manners said. She was ashamed to realise she had completely forgotten about Mrs Archer.

  ‘She’s a tough old bird, and no mistake,’ Green went on. He nodded at Jane. ‘Not the only one, it seems. I’ll make her some tea.’

  ‘Your universal remedy?’ Miss Manners joked.

  ‘The poor woman’s soaked through. I’m sure a hot drink will do her good.’

  ‘If she’s an Ubermensch – or Uberfrau, I suppose,’ Alban said, ‘why’s she just sitting there? The others have all tried to kill us. So did she, less than an hour ago.’

  ‘She’s delivered the axe,’ Miss Manners said. ‘That was her mission. Now she’s waiting for orders, I think.’

  ‘Then how do we make sure she doesn’t get any?’ Green asked. ‘Because you can bet they won’t be healthy for us.’ He headed off to put the kettle on.

  ‘If I’ve understood this,’ Alban said, ‘they transmit instructions into her mind, like a radio message – yes?’

  ‘As far as we can tell,’ Miss Manners agreed. ‘The people Guy and Leo saw at Wewelsburg, drawing, they intercepted the messages going back to the Vril.’ She gently touched the bulge on Jane’s arm where the shape of the bracelet was still visible. ‘These bracelets must be how the instructions are relayed and received, don’t you think?’

  ‘They must be something to do with it,’ Alban agreed. ‘So maybe we can block the transmissions somehow. Stop her new orders from ever coming through.’

  ‘We can try,’ Miss Manners said. ‘And I’m sure it would help if we could get that bracelet off her arm, which might also be easier if we can block the signals, at least for a while.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘Well, given that we can tap into the Vril’s communications by holding a séance, maybe there is an occult way to exorcise them from her mind completely.’

  ‘Exorcise?’ Alban echoed.

  ‘There are ancient ceremonies, rituals, handed down through time. Some of them at least seem to the derived from the science and knowledge of the Vril,’ Miss Manners said. ‘What if an exorcism isn’t just some form of religious words and symbols, but the remnants of something more tangible, more applicable?’

  ‘Vril science?’ Alban shook his head. ‘You think an exorcism could actually be some sort of scientific process?’

  Green returned with a mug of tea in time to hear this. He set it on the desk in font of Jane, and gently lifted her hands and clasped them round the mug. After a moment, Jane lifted the mug and sipped at the steaming brew.

  ‘Did I hear that right – you’re going to hold an exorcism?’ Green asked.

  ‘Well, it can’t do any harm I suppose,’ Alban said.

  Miss Manners was at her desk, opening one of the drawers and pulling out her camera. ‘But I think we should wait until she’s got her strength back. It’s likely to be a rather traumatic experience, so she may need a day or two to recover. And before that, I want to take Jane’s photograph.’

  * * *

  ‘We have to move,’ Hoffman decided. ‘The Vril will know what has happened. They know we have one of the axe-heads.’

  ‘Can you walk?’ Guy asked Leo.

  Leo stood up, tentatively putting weight on his bad leg. ‘Just about,’ he decided. ‘So long as I don’t have to run, it should be all right.’

  ‘They will be heading this way,’ Hoffman said. ‘I can feel them, probing my thoughts, trying to assert their control.’

  ‘So do we try to keep out of their way, or take the fight to them?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Do they know where we are?’ Leo wondered.

  Hoffman shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. They are in contact with the girl. They know I am in the city, and was close by. But without a complete, direct link they don’t have any more information than that.’

  ‘Many of them?’ Guy asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Hoffman said.

  ‘I vote we take the fight to them,’ Leo said.

  ‘Risky,’ Guy pointed out.

  ‘This place is bad enough as it is,’ Leo told him. ‘Imagine if they start turning more people into their Ubermensch creatures. God knows what it’ll be like then.’

  ‘The Vril themselves are easier to deal with than the Ubermensch,’ Hoffman agreed.

  ‘We still have to find them,’ Guy said.

  ‘Or
let them find us,’ Hoffman suggested. ‘I can feel them inside my mind. If I let my guard slip, they will see what I see. They will know where I am.’

  ‘Draw them to us?’ Leo said.

  ‘Exactly. And choose where we face them.’

  * * *

  Despite Leo’s insistence that he was on the mend, he was still limping and so they made slow progress through the shattered city. As dawn’s first light began to break over the ruins, they found themselves in the broken remains of another square. There was movement on the far side, figures picking their way through the fallen debris.

  Guy, Leo and Hoffman ducked into cover behind what was left of a wall. Across the rubble-strewn area they could see the German soldiers making their cautious way towards them. There were six in total. The soldiers moved between areas of cover, slowed by the uneven ground. But there was a space to one side of the square where they were exposed. The buildings along that side had been completely demolished, leaving little by way of shelter.

  They crossed the open area one at a time. The first soldier stumbled as he ran across the rubble. His comrades watched anxiously as he recovered, kept moving, and finally made it to the cover on the other side. Relieved and emboldened, three of the others made the journey together. They were midway when the shots rang out.

  The noise echoed round the area. One of the soldiers was flung backwards by the force of the bullet that caught him in the chest. A second fell sideways, clutching at his leg just above the knee. Another shot ripped into him as he stumbled. The third soldier hesitated, then ran on, leaving his colleagues behind. His legs seemed to keep running even when the front of his chest disappeared in a red haze.

  Answering fire from the two soldiers still on the far side of the square hammered into the building where the snipers were hidden.

  ‘They must have seen the muzzle flashes,’ Guy said.