Blue Skin (Book 2): Blue Skin Read online

The bathroom is behind the third door. Shower, posh looking bathtub, white toilet and sink. No room to swing a cat, let alone a vampire. Even though the dog doesn’t smell anything, Michael steps inside, walks up to the shower and yanks the curtain open. It’s bare, as expected, but worth a look just in case.

  Outside the fourth and final room, Michael tries the handle. Locked. He looks at me with a tiny, smug grin. Jackpot.

  “Shall I get the key from the Johnsons?” I ask; body wrapped with tension.

  He doesn’t reply, just shakes his head. “Keep Helsing away,” he says, handing me the leash. He takes a step back, and then barges the door with his wide shoulder. There’s a loud cracking sound as the lock snaps, and the door flies open. Michael unholsters his handgun, takes a breath, and steps inside the dark room. With force, he yanks open the curtains, and the weak sunlight exposes a child’s room. Blue walls, white chest of drawers and wardrobe, and a basket of soft toys below a set of bunk beds. No quilts, just a bare mattress on each level, and no mess whatsoever. The room looks unlived in, perhaps a place the Johnsons’ daughter could one day use like a normal child, with normal, human tastes. But that day will never come. They’re a disease. A virus without a cure. And they will never be human, no matter how ordinary they make her bedroom.

  As Michael searches the room, under the bunk, inside the wardrobe and toy chest, it takes me back to my training. But all the hours of role-play, scenarios just like this one, none of them truly prepares you for the real thing. Every home is different. Every family has a unique agenda. And no one really knows how far a mother and father will go to protect their child.

  Freya’s mother flashes in my head, remembering her desperation that night when Ben went missing. Searching Solace Park, throwing that purebred down the mine-shaft. That look on Freya’s eyes when—

  “Clear,” Michael announces, puncturing my thoughts. He points his gun at the ceiling. “Attic.”

  Just as Michael takes the leash from me, Helsing starts to bark at the room. Frowning, he lets the dog guide him over to the wardrobe. “There’s no one here, boy,” he says to the animal.

  Michael opens the doors, and the barking intensifies.

  On the carpet, I notice scrape marks lining up with the legs of the wardrobe, as if it’s been recently moved. “Look, sir,” I say, pointing at the floor. Frowning, he sees the marks, and then hands the leash back to me.

  “Take the dog out to Erin,” he whispers. “Quickly.”

  I nod and pull Helsing out of the room, along the corridor, and hand the leash over to Erin.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, confused.

  “Not sure yet.” I dash back to the bedroom.

  Michael grabs one end of the wardrobe, struggling to shift its weight. I grab the other side and we drag it across the carpet.

  Suddenly there’s a loud cracking sound coming from the wall. Something pushes the wardrobe from behind it, and it falls, face-down on the floor, snapping the doors clean off. Michael falls with it, hitting his head on the chest of drawers. In horror, I watch as the Johnsons’ daughter bursts out from a hole in the wall, her arms thin like spider legs, oozing fangs protruding, yellow eyes bulging with wild rage. Snarling, she leaps onto the back of the capsized wardrobe. With her blue skin roasting from the sunlight, she spots the exit and jumps down, slipping past me. Before she reaches the doorway, I catch her with the stun-gun. A jolt of electricity hits the back of her neck, dropping her to the carpet.

  “Hit her again!” Michael orders as he slowly gets to his feet, using the chest of drawers for support.

  I do as he says and watch the creature howl and spasm on the carpet. I ignore the white t-shirt and grey jeans she’s wearing. You can dress a dog up as much as you like—still doesn’t make it human.

  Head bleeding, Michael secures a set of handcuffs around her smoking wrists. “Throw a fire blanket over her before she burns to death.”

  “Okay, sir.” I remove the pack from my vest, unravel the fire blanket, and cast it over her twitching body.

  “Oh, shit!” Michael bellows as a second vampire comes surging out of the wall.

  The creature drives her shoulder into his chest, propelling him into the opposite wall.

  Heart racing, I prod my baton at the creature, but she manages to dodge it and scurry past me, leaping over her twin sister, reaching the corridor.

  A furious Michael barges past me.

  As the vampire gets to the hallway, the sound of gunfire ripples through the house. The Johnsons watch in dismay as their daughter falls to the floor and skids across the tiles, stopping in front of them.

  Has he killed her?

  But then she tries to stand, her legs buckling, blood seeping from her left knee.

  Erin releases the dog leash and puts her hand over her mouth; her back against the wall, her pale face even whiter.

  “Ruby!” Mr Johnson shrieks over the sound of barking. Devastated, he sprints across to his daughter’s crippled body.

  Enraged, Mrs Johnson bolts towards Michael. “You bastard!”

  Michael slots his gun into the holster, and then grabs her wrists, pushing her thin body against the corridor wall. “You need to calm down, Mrs Johnson.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!” she weeps. “You shot my Ruby!”

  “Erin!” Michael calls out. “Get here now!”

  Erin doesn’t budge.

  I want to help, but the first vamp is squirming under the fire blanket, the effects of the electricity fading. I prod her again with the stun-gun and her body softens.

  Michael forces the woman to the floor, and then cuffs her. “Erin! Snap out of it and take Mrs Johnson to the van.”

  Erin nods, wipes her eyes, and runs over to her. Clutching the grieving mother’s arm, she escorts her out of the house.

  “Sean. Cuff Mr Johnson.”

  “What about the vamps?” I ask, pressing my knee firmly down on the creature’s back.

  “Leave them to me.”

  Mr Johnson hardly moves when I strap the cuffs on his wrists. Too shaken up, too horrified to put up a fight. I pull him to his feet and steer him outside.

  As the smell of grass and fresh air hits me, I realise that the fear has gone, left to rot in The Johnsons’ bungalow. Two fewer vampires may not change the world. It may not give me my old life back. And it certainly won’t bring Mum and Dad back.

  But it’s a solid start.

  5

  We pull the van into the HQ car park. Even though the HCA have been using the police station as a base since all this began, we still get those bitter looks of unwelcome. Michael warned me about the resentment when I first signed up, but I never realised how obvious it would be. I suppose they have a right to be pissed off with us. After all, we clog up their holding cells with vampires, take over their break room with our staff, and fill up their car park with our vans. Michael says that they’re building us our own station, but there’s no money left. Most of it goes on staffing, equipment, and keeping The Facility running. So, it’s not like we have a lot of choice in the matter.

  And I’d like to see those doughnut-eating dicks take down a pair of vampire twins.

  The police take the Johnsons into custody, while I help Michael get the vamps into the holding cell. When it used to be a regular cell, it had a barred window, but now it’s covered up with a steel-shutter. It keeps the sunlight out, but it can be opened by remote if there’s any trouble.

  Michael slams the door and locks it. “Nice work today, Sean,” he says as we walk along the corridor. “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks, sir. Think I shit my pants when that second vamp came out. Never saw that one coming.”

  Michael chuckles. “Yeah, me, too. I’ve seen plenty of false walls, but definitely no twins. Probably won’t be the last, either.”

  “Why didn’t you just shoot her in the head and be done with it?”

  “And how would that look in front of the Johnsons?” Michael asks.

&nbs
p; I shrug, imagining how devastated Jane and Freya would have been in the same scenario. “But the twins’ll be sent to The Facility, anyway. They’ll be executed. What’s the difference?”

  Michael stops, puts his hand on my shoulder. “Public image, Sean. At the moment, most people hate us.” A police officer passes us. “No, scratch that: everyone hates us. But most of them hate us because they know how vital we are.”

  “And they’re pissed off because we make them feel guilty?”

  “Exactly. They hate us until a pack of roamers storm their homes, draining their loved ones dry. But we still have to keep up a semi-decent image. We can’t go ‘round shooting vampires in front of their families.” We start walking again. “Not if we can help it. It’s all bullshit, I know. But killing these creatures, away from the public eye is the only way. For now, at least.”

  “What do you mean?”

  We reach the break-room doorway. “If they keep breeding at this rate, there’ll no longer be any time for pleasantries. It’ll be like the wild west.”

  “That’s a scary thought. When do you think I’ll get to see The Facility?”

  Smiling, he gives me a firm pat on the arm. “Soon enough. You keep kicking arse like today and I’ll take you there myself.” He gestures with his head for me to follow him inside. “Coffee?”

  I poke my head in, but I can’t see Erin. “No, thanks, sir. Think I’ll get some fresh air instead.”

  “Okay, Sean. I’ll see you later.”

  I leave the building through the back door. Erin is sitting on the wall, smoking a cigarette, her long, black hair out of its ponytail. She spots me straightaway, but doesn’t acknowledge me.

  “Thought you quit those things?” I ask, sitting next to her.

  She takes a long drag and exhales a giant puff of smoke. “Been one of those days.”

  “Yeah. Tell me about it. Thought Mike was gonna kill that vamp.”

  She doesn’t react, just takes another drag.

  “Mike said that I might get to see The Facility soon,” I continue.

  She turns to me, a deep frown of worry tattooed on her forehead. “Did he mention me?”

  I shake my head.

  She finishes the cigarette, stubs it out with her boot, and then lights up another. “I’m done here,” she says, her words like ice.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s not going to keep me on after what happened today.”

  There’s a part of me that thinks she’s right, but I try with every ounce of will to hide it. “It was your first house-call. So what if you froze a little? I bet loads of people do.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Yeah, true. But you’re forgetting something.”

  She takes another puff. “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got balls of steel.”

  Erin smiles, showcasing her perfect white teeth. “It’s not funny. I don’t want him to kick me out.”

  I gently barge my shoulder into hers. “Don’t be so paranoid. We’re still learning the ropes. Not everyone reacts the same way. Michael’s a military man. He knows how hard it is.”

  “It’s not just the freezing thing. He took you with him to search the house, and left me to deal with the family. He obviously doesn’t trust me.”

  “He’s probably just testing you, that’s all. Don’t take it so personally.”

  She doesn’t retort, just takes another drag.

  I reach over, snatch the cigarette out of her fingers, and take a puff. The smoke fills my lungs and I cough uncontrollably.

  Laughing, Erin takes back the cigarette. “You okay?”

  “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

  Part IV

  FREYA LAWSON

  6

  As soon as I leave the kebab shop, an ice-cold gust freezes my lungs. I breathe hot air over my cupped palms, annoyed that I forgot my gloves again. I should leave a spare set in work, just in case. On a cold night like this, I wish I hadn’t sold Tony’s car. But it was too risky sitting behind a dead man’s steering wheel. Plus, I needed the money.

  The life of a fugitive isn’t exactly cheap.

  “See you tomorrow, Jodie,” Hakesh says as he locks the shutter behind me.

  Oddly enough, the only fun thing about all this was changing my name. Mum told me that I came really close to being called Jodie when I was born. In fact, I was Jodie for about two minutes before she changed her mind. It’s still weird when Hakesh calls me it. Even now, I have to fight the urge to correct him.

  The streets are a little quieter this morning. Which, considering how many low-lifes there are in this neighbourhood, it should be a good thing. But fewer people mean more roaming vampires—and I’m way too tired to run.

  At the bottom of my street, there’s a man sitting up against the wall. From here, he looks passed out, most likely drunk out of his skull. But for all I know, he could be dead, his throat torn out and drained of blood. In any other town, in another other situation, I’d go check on him, call the police, throw a blanket over him. But I can’t risk it. I’ve got to stay smart, keep ahead of trouble.

  At my door, I pull out my key and try to push it into the lock—but the door is ajar. Did someone forget to close it properly? But then I see the broken wood on the frame and realise that it’s been forced open.

  Pulse raised, I step into the hallway, dimly lit by the street-light permeating through the window above the door. I flick the light switch, but it’s still not working, and that mouldy smell that’s permanently in the air seems even stronger. Is that piss I can smell, too? Hairs standing high on my arms and neck, I creep along the hallway, heading to the stairs, using the walls to guide me.

  What if some junkie broke into our flat? Discovered Ben?

  With cat-like alertness, I tiptoe up the creaky stairs. About halfway up, something catches my eye.

  Is that a body?

  There’s a man lying face-down on the steps, one arm hanging through the banister, the other clenching a bottle of vodka. Is he dead? Holding my breath from the awful stink of piss coming from his trousers, I prod him with my foot. Nothing happens. “Hello?” I prod him again, almost retching when his vile odour hits my nose. “Are you all right?” Still nothing. “Bloody hell.” The last thing I need right now is the police sniffing around. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.” No movement. Leaning over him, hand cupping my mouth and nose, I listen out for breathing.

  Please don’t be dead.

  A slow, hideous belch leaves his mouth, and I jump back in fright.

  Oh, thank God!

  The man rolls over on his side, drops the bottle of vodka on the step, and then half-opens his eyes. Holding my breath, I slip past him and race up the stairs. I don’t even know if he lives in the building. Looked more like a homeless man. Can’t imagine him having any money to afford a decent meal, let alone a flat.

  I’ll call the landlord in the morning; tell him about the broken door. Not that he’ll do anything about it. And I can’t exactly bug him. One argument and I’m out on the streets—or worse, he’ll call the HCA.

  I get inside the flat, lock the door, and slide the chain across. I’m starving, but there were no leftovers in the kebab shop. The place was quiet all night, so everything was cooked to order. Any decent human being would fry me up something just to be nice. But no, not Hakesh. But at least I got to finish a little earlier.

  I’m sure there’re still some ham slices in the fridge from the other day. The one good thing about living with a vampire is that they never steal your food. I open the fridge, pull out the packet of ham, and stuff four pieces into my mouth. That still leaves another three. Best ration them. Closing the door, I feel a cold breeze slither up my arm and over my face. I follow it to the window.

  It’s wide open.

  “Ben!” I call out in panic, racing into the bedroom. The bed is still made from yesterday, so I sprint into the living room. “Ben!”

  Empty.

  That stupid boy!
r />   He’s gone hunting again.

  7

  It’s started to pick with rain, and this jacket doesn’t have a hood. There’s a cop car just up ahead. These days, that’s a rarity. It should make me feel safer in this neighbourhood, but it doesn’t; it just fills me with even more anxiety. The police have lost all their meaning. They’re now just a direct link to the HCA. I cut across the street to avoid it, but the car pulls off, the cops seemingly uninterested.

  Where the hell is that boy?

  I can’t exactly call out his name, or ask someone if they’ve seen him. My stomach spins at the thought of something terrible happening to him. Over by a boarded-up hairdressers is a series of lanes. Lots of stray dogs and cats. Probably a damn good place to start looking for him.

  A blue van slowly drives by. Is that the same one I saw the other day? Probably some mindless vigilantes, scanning these rough, lawless streets for vampire blood. Who else would be dumb enough to be out at this hour?

  Just as I pass an old shoe shop, I clench my fists in fright. There are two men standing in its doorway, smoking God-knows-what.

  “You’re out late,” one of them says, his voice rough, slurred. “Need some directions?”

  The other man laughs. “Yeah. We’ll give you some directions.”

  I don’t answer them, just walk as fast as I can, my sights on the hairdressers about thirty metres in front. I look over my shoulder. They’re following me. I speed up, my walk turning into a run. In a flash, I reach the litter-filled lane, and then hide behind a huge bin. Holding my breath, I wait, trying to will my heart to slow down. After a few seconds, I see the two men shamble past the lane entrance, continuing along the street.

  I slowly release my breath in relief, and only now do I notice the awful smell of vomit and shit coming from the bin. Retching, I move away from it and carry on down the lane.

  “Ben,” I whisper loudly, creeping along the dark lane. “It’s Freya.” The rain has thickened, so I zip my jacket up to the top. He’s probably murdered some cute little kitten and gone back to the flat. “Ben!”

  That was too loud.

  The dingy, pothole-covered lane merges with another. It’s too dark to see if it leads to a dead end, but I risk it anyway, and hope to God I don’t run into another couple of junkies.