All Rotting Meat

by Maleham , Eve

  She looked up and saw a handful of vampires who had caught up to the car, James Shepard in pursuit. There was the screech of metal, a heavy thud, then the night’s air gusting into the car. Shepard had ripped the door closest to Clarence off the side of the Jeep.

  ‘Oh, fuck!’

  Clarence scrambled back into the car, holding onto a headrest, looking for something to defend himself with, as Shepard reached for him, kicking back against him. His eyes were wide and frantic.

  The taste of burning metal rose up in Khalida’s mouth; she was acutely aware of the pounding of her pulse, and looked down at Clarence. Khalida snatched Poppy’s stake, and brought it down on Clarence’s hand. Clarence’s scream instantly faded, as Shepard pulled him clean out of the Jeep and onto the road behind them.

  The vampires chasing them fell back. Khalida caught a glimpse of their bodies pinning Clarence’s against the road. She sighed and lay back on her seat as they came through the village again, her sight flickering as everything became out of sync.

  Her hair whipped around her face. Cain was twisted around in his seat, talking to her, yelling over the sound of the engine and the wind. Everything grew increasingly distant, leaving her with nothing but pain and darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ouroboros

  Banes had fled from Khalida’s home and raced back to his apartment. He didn’t know how long he had, or whether he might meet Rebirth agents on the stairs coming back down.

  He grabbed one of his passports and threw it into a travelling bag, along with his wallet, two envelopes containing euro notes, his jewellery, and whatever clothes and things he would need. Aside from his emergency cash, the rest of his money was hidden away in various bank accounts around the world, but he would need time to access them.

  He looked around the place; he had barely moved in. There were still packing boxes around the room. He sighed and turned, rushing back down the stairs, down out onto the street, and into the night, the city screaming around him.

  Not having a car, he flagged down a taxi and asked to be driven to Woolwich, booking the earliest train ticket and ferry crossing available on his phone. The driver had his radio on the news channel.

  ‘The government announced plans to open a new immigration detention centre in East Sussex today, as part of the Prime Minister’s promise to crack down on illegal immigrants living in the UK. The move was met with heated criticism from the Opposition and advocate groups who have called the plans unethical following the report of widespread mistreatment at Yarl’s Wood...’

  ‘Can we turn this off?’ Banes asked, feeling bile rise in his mouth. The driver raised an eyebrow, and they drove to Woolwich in silence. From Woolwich, waited outside the train station with acid rising in his stomach as he waited to take the first train down to Dover, burning through his pounds and unable to shake off the feeling that Rebirth were just behind him.

  He arrived in Dover just as the sun began to lap around the edges of the horizon, slowly tainting the sky pale blue and yellow, and made his way to port. He walked onto the ferry. His passport was scanned and inspected at the border; his breath caught in his throat as his passport was scanned, the fear of being asked to step out of line inside him, but the fake identity held, and he was waved through.

  The day dawned bright. Banes made his way up onto the deck; the sunlight scratched his skin and the wind ruffled his hair as he watched the white cliffs and green fields of England slip away, growing smaller and hazier against the mud-brown sea.

  The higher the sun rose, the less chance Khalida would have of escaping, and the full extent of his betrayal would be realised. He wondered if Rosemary’s body had been found yet, his thoughts now shifting to how Tycho and Cecilia would have grasped the news.

  He ran his hand over his neck, remembering how Tycho had possessively pressed onto him, his eyes burning, afraid and lonely, as he forced his body into his, teeth in his neck, nails against his skin, scared of having to detach himself. He remembered Tycho’s large T-shaped scar which run from his shoulders to his navel from when he had been dissected alive. He was still wearing Tycho’s jumper and pulled it up close to his nose, breathing in his scent.

  Kojo knew that he was going; he knew that, but to have him know that he murdered Rosemary was something that sent ice shivering through his stomach. He stayed on deck until the sun burned too painfully on his skin, and he made his way to the ferry’s bar. By the time the ship docked at Calais, he was tired, but knew that he couldn’t stop.

  He spent the day travelling down through France by train, sleeping as best he could in between stops. There was no way around travelling through Paris. His heart beat hard as he stepped through the Shield of Scarlet’s city to his connecting train. He grew even more exhausted as the day pressed on, thirst growing within him, all thoughts of being chased and followed seeping through his increasingly foggy and stiff brain. He eventually stumbled off the train at Toulouse late in the afternoon, his skin now painfully irritated, where he made his way to the nearest available hotel and collapsed on the bed.

  He woke up late in the night and set off again, trying to adjust his body to the daylight. Too tired still to do much else, he boarded a coach to Barcelona. There, he could breathe a little easier, as he stepped off the coach onto the warm, Spanish streets. He found a cheap hotel that took cash to stay in for a few days.

  As a city he usually loved Barcelona, where the tall buildings, which lined narrow streets, offered him plenty of shade away from the sun, and some space to think. The first thing he did when he reached his room was rip up the passport he had used to travel with, and flush the pieces down the toilet. Then, he sat back on his bed, which sank under his weight, and sighed.

  ‘I am so fucked.’

  Even while staying in a dive of a hotel, he was worried about how quickly he was burning through his reserves of money. He supposed that, if need be, he could go completely off the grid and wander through the continent by foot, but the idea of walking through southern Europe as the days grew longer, and not being able to find a place that offered shelter from the sun, scared him. And besides that, he needed to create a way for Kojo to find him.

  He had a contact in the city who could get him a new passport to travel on, rush-ordered so that it would be finished within the week. He took a long, cold shower to soothe his skin, and stepped out into the city as night fell.

  It was easy to prey on tourists, who were unaware of the city and everything around them. Banes caught them while they stumbled out of bars. There was a twinge of guilt at the prospect of ruining their holidays, as he followed those by themselves, mostly backpackers, and pressed them against dark walls, biting down on their necks. Banes wandered around the city for nights, his appearance hidden underneath a hat and large sunglasses, reading the news, scanning for any signs of Rebirth shaping Britain.

  He sat out on the beach, enjoying the feeling of cooling sand under his skin and waves washing over his feet. He sat outside restaurants, bars and cafés in the shade, watching humans live and enjoy the sun, and convincing everyone around him that he was normal, like them.

  He had ordered several pizzas to be delivered to Kojo’s house to let him know that he had got away free, and wondered whether Kojo would ever want to join him, or even see him again. During the day, as he lay in his uncomfortable bed, in his room with a broken air conditioner, sweat coating his skin as heat swelled up, cruel and not unjustified thoughts of Kojo turning against him filled his mind. His dreams turned to faceless Rebirth agents dragging him back to London, instantly knowing that Khalida was dead, and Kojo and Tycho would never be coming back to him. Sometimes, he dreamt that they never existed at all, and a crippling loneliness overtook him.

  After a few days of waiting, having paid a huge sum of money, he received his new fake passport, and used the last of his cash to buy a stolen car, and a ferry ticket to Palma.

  He owned a small house on the north-west coast of Majorca in an isolated and remot
e place, which stood a short walk away from high, steep cliff faces, which looked out onto the sea. The only access to the sea was by following a dangerous series of crooked, stone stairs down to a small, rocky cove. It was a beautiful place, surrounded by peace and greenery, staring down at the brilliant, blue water, with only the sounds of the waves hitting the rocks below, the wildlife, and the wind. It made for a convenient place to go when he needed some space away from everyone, especially as it was only forty minutes away from Magaluf, which always promised plenty of prey with its intoxicated tourists.

  He spent the hours of the ferry crossing drinking paint thinner from a flask and reading, as the sun edged its way down and then below the horizon, trying to shift his mind away from his dreams, which had seeped through into his waking life.

  The cottage was as he remembered it, only now thick with dust and spider webs. From everywhere in the house, he could hear the sounds of the sea, with the windows towards the back of the house overlooking the seemingly endless blue. The quietness of the place fell heavy on him, the sound of his thoughts thunderous.

  He quickly showered and changed into a loose, grey, vest top, black shorts, and red-tinted, circular sunglasses, before he dabbed on some aftershave and setting off to hunt again.

  With his car racing, he reached Magaluf within half an hour. It was just past one A.M. He drank paint thinner from a flask, the air was warm and soft against his skin, and the town was roaring. It was nearly Easter, he supposed, people would already be having their Easter holidays.

  The strip was full of people, every bar teaming with inebriated young men and women, all wearing barely anything. Cheap, neon signs flashed around him, and the sound of talk, laughter, jeers, glass shattering, and music from various sound systems, pulsed violently into the night.

  Banes stalked through the crowds, pulling euro notes from wallets and purses and putting them in his pocket. He tried to lose himself in the chaos, but the scene played jarringly against him.

  He made his way down to the beach, where he could see a few people skinny dipping in the waves, and a couple having sex out in the open. He walked further along until he found a young man passed out on the sand, away from everybody else. He looked young; no older than twenty, and was wearing only shorts, which exposed his fleshy body, pale white except for patches of red on his face, with an England tattoo on his arm. His blood smelt good, so Banes knelt down beside him, brought the boy’s wrist up to his mouth and bit. Hot, rich blood seeped into his mouth. There didn’t seem to be any catharsis from it; instead of becoming full, the blood only amplified his hunger, until the flesh of the boy grew tempting. He opened his mouth to sink his teeth down into him.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He looked up and saw a young Englishwoman standing alone, slightly unsteady on her feet, her body drawn together, her long, brown hair sweeping down her back, and her large, brown eyes watery. She was wearing tiny denim shorts, which were tight over her body, and a beaded bikini top. She had obviously been crying.

  ‘Just checking his pulse,’ Banes said, quickly wiping blood away from his mouth on the back of his hand.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I was worried that he might be dead or something.’

  ‘S-should we call someone?’ she asked.

  ‘Nah,’ Banes said, ‘he’s fine.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said as her lower lip trembled.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, before bursting into tears.

  ‘What happened?’ Banes asked, going over to her and placing his hand on her shoulders. She smelled of cheap, hyper-feminine perfume, which masked alcohol, sunscreen, and sweat. ‘I promise it’s not that bad.’

  ‘Well, it’s just,’ the girl gulped back a cry, as Banes guided her over to a row of sunbeds to sit down on, ‘it’s like, it’s just that this was meant to be a girls’ trip, you know? Like, half of us are going to be starting uni this year, and I know everyone comes here for a shag, but we said we’d have one night of just us, but they’ve all left me behind to go off with boys. And I don’t mean to be a bitch or anything, but I just wanted this one thing to happen…’

  He let her cry for several minutes, before her breathing straightened up, and she rubbed her eyes.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ Banes said.

  ‘Fuck off,’ she mumbled, a brief smile flashing onto her face.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Becky,’ she said. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Banes.’

  ‘D-do you work here?’ she asked, blinking away her tears. ‘You don’t seem to be like the other guys here.’

  ‘I live on the island,’ he said, ‘though, sometimes I like coming here and seeing the madness. And you’re here on holiday with your friends, right?’

  She nodded, brushing her hair back behind her head.

  ‘Yeah. Are you American? You’ve got a weird accent.’

  ‘I’m Norwegian-American,’ he said. ‘So, how old are you, if you’re not at uni yet?’

  ‘I’m eighteen,’ she said.

  ‘Did you turn eighteen this year?’ he asked, looking at her, with her adult body and teary teenage face.

  Becky nodded, ‘Yeah, two weeks ago.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered, running a hand through his hair. ‘Well, happy birthday for two weeks ago.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How does it feel to be young?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you feel brave or scared, being here?’ he asked. ‘I assume it’s your first time abroad without your parents or a teacher looking out for you.’

  ‘Are you high?’ Becky said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘So, this is it, a big first for you.’

  She shrugged. ‘Like, it feels a little strange, but I’m going to uni in September, it’s not like I’m going to be with my parents forever. I just came here to have fun, really.’

  ‘Are you having fun?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been alright, really,’ she said, ‘apart from tonight. So, how old are you? Like, thirty?’

  ‘A little older,’ he said.

  ‘Thirty-two?’

  ‘Sure, let’s go with that,’ he said, leaning back on the sunbed. The lights of the town blocked out most of the stars.

  Becky leaned back beside him, and started tracing over the scars on his shoulder with her finger.

  ‘Did you get burned, or something?’ she asked.

  ‘By holy water,’ he said, ‘because I’m a demon.’

  Becky gave a wet giggle, leaning even closer to him. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘If you could live forever, what would you do?’ he asked, staring out at the sea.

  ‘Live forever, how?’ she said, her hand on his leg. ‘Like, will I age?’

  ‘You don’t age, but you can be killed,’ he said.

  Becky sighed. ‘I guess it’ll be sad to see everyone I know die…but if I had all the time, then I guess I’d like to travel? I don’t know, perhaps it would be better to stay…not…not dying.’

  ‘Do you think that most people would choose the same?’

  She shrugged. ‘Depends; it’s something a lot of people think about, but it actually happening? It’s like zombies, everyone thinks they’re really cool, but if they actually happened it would be terrible, you know what I’m saying?’

  ‘A little bit,’ Banes said, leaning closer to her.

  ‘This is really deep,’ she said, her lips pulling back to a gentle smile.

  ‘What are you going to be studying at uni, then?’

  ‘Photography,’ she said, ‘at Middlesex Uni, hopefully. I want to do fashion photography. Did you study anything?’

  ‘History,’ Banes said, ‘and politics.’

  ‘You seem really smart,’ Becky said.

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ Banes said.

  ‘No, I can tell,’ she said, her head coming cl
oser towards him. ‘You seem different. More sophi-soph-sophis…’

  ‘Sophisticated?’

  ‘That’s it,’ she grinned. ‘I guess I am a little drunk.’

  ‘You’ve only had enough here if you can’t move afterwards,’ Banes said.

  ‘Yeah, it’s crazy,’ Becky said, ‘but this is really nice…just us, together.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘I like you,’ she said, pulling him into a clumsy, awkward kiss. Her hands fluttered around his chest; he could taste tequila on her lips. Something cheap and primal stirred within him as her hand groped around his crotch. He pulled back away from her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Can we go somewhere else?’ he asked. ‘Rather than a sunbed in the middle of a beach?’

  ‘We can go back to my hotel room,’ Becky said, with a gleam in her eyes. ‘Annie and Stacy have fucked off back with some lads; there won’t be anyone there.’

  ‘Great,’ Banes said, getting to his feet, holding her hand as she was unsteadily walking.

  ‘Did you come here because you just wanted to screw pretty girls, then?’ she asked, giving a pert toss of her hair, as she led him around the boisterous streets.

  ‘I came here because I’ve made mistakes,’ Banes said, ‘and the more I thought things would die down and blow over, the more they escalated, and now I’m about to witness something incredibly fucked up happen, and I’m not even sure what to watch out for, or that anyone will even realise what’s going on. But yeah, fucking pretty girls is always a plus.’

  ‘Are you…is it, like, drugs, or something?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Kind of,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not anything, like…really bad, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s really bad for you?’

  ‘Like, sex stuff, human trafficking, anything to do with kids,’ she said.

  ‘Nah, that’s fucked up,’ Banes said, as they came to the front of a tall and bland hotel.