Blue Skin Page 13

  Maggie is kneeling over her son, rocking back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.

  I steer him away from the fallen leader, towards the exit.

  We step outside into the cool night air. Gun pointed ahead, I check for any other residents or spectators lying in wait with a shotgun. For now, the coast is clear. The top of the steel shutter is high, so I leap up, grab its narrow ledge, and yank it down. There’s an open padlock hanging through the metal latch at the centre. I’m too terrified to feel relief by the sheer luck of it, so I just click the padlock, and seal the bitch inside.

  Some of the residents are gathered by the caravans; the news of my escape already spread. I still have two guns, so I’ll take my chances and sprint towards the farm gates. “Come on, Ben,” I order, grabbing this wrist again. “We’re leaving.”

  I try to run, but Ben is stiff, his stance strong, his feet firmly planted into the grass. “What are you doing? We’ve got to go now.”

  Shaking his head, he points at The Hold. ‘The others.’

  “There’s no time.” I pull his wrist, but there’s no movement.

  ‘The others!’

  Groaning with frustration, I glance at the locked steel shutter of the hangar, and then at The Hold. It’s at least a hundred metres away. And locked. “No, Ben! Those people down there will shoot us!” I yank his arm hard, but he wriggles free from my grip, and then dashes up the hill, towards The Hold.

  “Ben!” I cry, chasing after him.

  By the time I reach him, he’s already banging on the steel shutter; the clanging sound drawing even more attention to us. Ben picks up a rock and slams it onto the padlock. Nothing happens.

  “Look out,” I say, aiming the gun at it. “I’m gonna shoot it.”

  He steps out of the way.

  With my hand shielding my face, I fire off a bullet, but it misses the padlock. I try again, this time it hits the padlock, buckling the metal, but not enough to shatter it.

  The third bullet rips through the lock with ease.

  Ben scurries over to the padlock, fumbling as he tries to unhook it from the latch.

  Suddenly, there’s a deafening explosion, mixed with an even louder clanging sound.

  Ears ringing, heart soaring, I see Ben. He’s leaning against the shutter, clutching his chest. Blood leaking through his fingers.

  “No!” I weep in dismay as he slides onto the ground.

  I turn to Maggie. “What have you done?”

  She still has the shotgun pointed at Ben, smoke coming from the barrel, finger still on the trigger. But there’s no smug grin this time. No cruel, twisted comment. Not even a piercing glare of hatred.

  Her expression is blank. Cold. Like nothing in the world matters, other than destroying the one who murdered her only son.

  “You bitch!” A burst of energy—of madness—takes over, and I charge at Maggie, my shoulder crashing into her chest before she can turn the gun on me. She hits the ground hard, the shotgun flying from her grasp. Momentum takes me with her until I’m pinning her down with my weight. I start to pound her face as hard as I can, like she’s nothing more than a punch bag, or a lump of dough. Her nose and lips split, covering her swollen face with blood.

  Through the chaos, the anger, I hear people shouting in the distance. And a heavy engine firing up. I’m seconds away from one of the residents pulling me from their leader, or taking my head off with a shotgun round. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

  I won’t.

  There’s an echo of gunfire in the air. Is it aimed at me? It sounds far.

  Another shot.

  Then another.

  An agonising pain cuts through me as Maggie drives her knee into my groin. The force throws me off and I land on the grass, hitting my head on a rock. Vision hazy, I watch Maggie get to her feet, cupping her shattered nose. “You’ve got balls, sweetie,” she says, scanning the grass for the shotgun. “But you shouldn’t have let your brother kill my boy.”

  Disorientated, I try to get up, but my legs have seized.

  She spots the gun and walks over to it. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved to this disease.”

  I sit up, battling to stay conscious, the back of my head moist with blood. Get up, Freya. Don’t let it end like this.

  “How does it feel, sweetie,” she reaches for the weapon, “to lose someone you love again? To lose your only family?”

  She grabs it.

  With the last of my strength, I reach behind me and lift up the rock.

  Maggie wipes the blood from her nose and mouth, and then aims the shotgun at my head. “This is where you and I part ways.”

  I pull the rock from the ground and launch at her, aiming for her face.

  Without flinching, without moving, Maggie’s eyes follow the rock’s journey, until it lands about a metre away from her foot.

  She shakes her head and sniggers. “See, I said you had balls.” She closes one eye to line up the sight at the top of the gun. “Almost as big as—”

  Through closed eyes, I hear the sound of a gun going off.

  I wince in horror, sheltering my head with both arms.

  But I’m still alive.

  Did she miss?

  Puzzled, I open my eyes.

  Maggie is lying on the ground, the shotgun next to her. And then my jaw drops when I see the person standing over her, dressed in black, and holding a rifle in his hands.

  It can’t be.

  Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?

  Am I dead?

  “Sean?” His name drops from my lips with one, bewildered breath.

  He races over to me, the shock on his face mirroring my own. He takes my hand and helps me to my unsteady feet. “Freya. What are you doing here?”

  I don’t answer because I can’t form any words to express what I’m feeling right now, so I just nod, remembering that Ben is still behind me, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Just as I turn to witness the horror, I find my brother standing against the steel shutter, hunched over, an arm covering his chest wound, and a furious snarl across his mouth.

  “Ben!” I shout with relief. “You’re alive!” An instant flood of tears descend from my eyes.

  “Out of the way!” a female voice yells. There’s a dark-haired girl standing by Sean’s side. She’s also dressed in black, and is pointing a rifle at Ben. HCA?

  Is Sean HCA, too?

  What the hell is going on?

  Growling, fangs protruding, Ben shuffles towards Sean, his hunch receding with every footstep.

  “No, Ben!” I put my hands out to stop him. “Stay where you are!”

  He ignores me, pushing my arms out of the way.

  The woman lines up her rifle with Ben’s head, ready to squeeze the trigger.

  “Don’t shoot!” Sean shrieks in panic, shoving her gun up into the air just as the bullet leaves the barrel.

  “What the hell are you doing, Sean?” she snaps. “He’s a vampire!”

  I grab Ben by his waist and tackle him to the ground. He struggles, but he’s too weak to fight back.

  “You can’t shoot him, Erin,” Sean points out, standing in front of Ben, shielding him from a second shot. “Michael needs him alive.”

  “What are you talking about?” the girl asks with a menacing glare.

  Sean points at me. “This is Freya.” And then he points at Ben. “And this is her brother. The one Michael’s been looking for.”

  “Freya?” She spits out my name like grit. “Your ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yes. Her brother is the first vampire to be born.”

  “The first?” The gun starts to droop in her hands. “You never told me that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Erin. I should have mentioned it. But it’s true. He’s too important to kill. He needs to go to The Facility.”

  Through the chaos of his words, I see two HCA vans parked up next to the second row of caravans. And blocking the farm gates are two police vans, blue lights flashing on top.

  “Fine
.” The girl unclips her stun-gun baton from her belt and marches over to us.

  “Get that thing away from me!” I snap, defending Ben with my arms. “Or I’ll ram it so far up your—”

  The jolt from her baton rips through me, and I fall to the ground in agony, eyes watering, body convulsing.

  By the time the shock starts to fade, Ben is already in handcuffs being dragged across the grass by the girl, drool saturating his mouth, his legs and arms flaccid. “No! Don’t take him away!” I battle to stand, my legs heavy, posture wobbly. “Ben!”

  “Put that bitch in cuffs,” the girl says to Sean as she passes him.

  I try to chase after them, but Sean grabs my wrist.

  “You can’t let her take him.” I weep. “You’ve got to stop her. Please, Sean!”

  Two HCA officers are walking towards us, both armed.

  Ben and the girl have already reached the van. He looks back in my direction, and then tugs on his restraints. The girl unleashes a second jolt from the stun-gun before shoving him into the van, slamming the doors shut behind him.

  “No!” I scream in anguish. “Don’t take him away from me!”

  The two officers are just a few metres away.

  “Hit me,” Sean whispers.

  I frown in puzzlement. “What?”

  “And then run as fast as you can.” His eyes are huge, laced with severity.

  I scan the area. I can’t use the gates to escape. It’s crawling with HCA. My eyes dart up the hill, to the furthest watchtower and fence. It’s unmanned. That’s my only chance.

  Sean pulls out his handcuffs. “Do it,” he whispers again, this time firmer, with more urgency.

  Without any other option, I clench my fist, retract my arm, and then slam my fist into his nose.

  And then I run.

  There’s no time for guilt. For sorrys. No time to look back. I just focus on the fence straight ahead, praying that I’m not shot from behind.

  In the moonlight, tears stream, the wind ripping them from my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m still crying. Is it because Ben has been taken? The relief of escaping this place? Seeing Sean again?

  My heart is pumping harder than it’s ever pumped before. I should be tired, I should be down on the grass, exhausted—but I keep running.

  Always running.

  This is my life now. I’ll always have someone to run from. Vampires. HCA. The Maggies of this harsh new world.

  But this time I have direction. A purpose. Somewhere to aim for.

  I know where they’re taking you, Ben. And I’ll find it.

  I’ll find The Facility.

  Even if it kills me...

  Part IX

  MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  27

  I drop my bread-crusts into the paper bag, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and then turn on my mobile phone. Sipping my coffee, I wait impatiently for the screen to power up. After a few seconds, a text message from Marie appears, asking if I’ll be home for dinner. She sent it at 7:45 P.M., and it’s now 11:07 P.M. I turn it back off and slip it into my pocket. No point replying; she knows I’m still at The Facility. And anyway, she’s probably in bed by now—and I’m pretty sure dinner has long gone.

  I throw the paper bag and plastic cup into the bin, and then step out of the office, heading for the lab.

  This place gives me the creeps at night because there is hardly any staff here, it’s colder, darker, and these normally silent corridors are now filled with the wretched screams of four-hundred and forty-six vampires.

  I should be used to it by now, but I’m not.

  Maybe I’m weaker than I thought.

  I reach the orange door and enter my password into the security panel. There’s a beep and a thud, a puff of compressed air, and the door with Restricted Access written across the centre unlocks. I step through the opening and close the door behind me. Maybe I should have texted Marie back. Even if she is sleeping, at least she’d know that I’m thinking of her. The lights above my head automatically come on as I walk towards the lab. At the glass door, I twist the thick steel handle, and step inside the dark room. Right away, the beeping of Peter’s heart-rate monitor punctures the silence, and that sterile, hospital smell hits me right away, even more overpowering than the stink of dead vampires. I float my hand over the light switch. Maybe I should keep it off. Wouldn’t want to risk another cardiac arrest. Using the green lights from his monitor screen and ICP device, I walk over to the desk and switch on the small lamp; its tiny bulb half-illumining the room.

  The wheeze of Peter’s breath is soothing, hypnotic even, like he’s wide awake, listening, wondering what I’m doing here again. I sit on the chair and roll it over to his bedside. The sight of his blue, shrivelling arm disturbs me. How many more years before he withers away for good? Two? Three? I take his hand. It dwarfs mine by at least twelve inches in diameter. His fingernails need cutting again. They’re at least two inches wide and easily four inches long. He could tear a lion in half with those talons.

  “Busted another nest yesterday,” I whisper, noticing yet another bedsore on his side. It’s not healing. “Biggest nest yet.” The beeping sound almost seems like he’s saying: ‘Really, Mike?’. “We found it in that old supermarket just outside Bridgeside. Do you remember that place, Pete?” I smile, recalling the playground where I broke my thumb hanging off the monkey-bars. “We used to play down there when we were kids. I would say that Bridgeside has gone downhill since our days, but it’s always been a dump. Always had its fair share of scumbags.”

  The lab door opening startles me, and I let go of his gigantic hand, spinning my chair to face Doctor Moore. “All right, Doc? Thought you’d left the building.”

  “We just got a shipment in,” he says, a little out of breath. Beyond his thick glasses, I see wild, excited eyes. Haven’t seen those since the outbreak.

  “From where?” I ask. “That farm?”

  “Yes. But they found something else in the process.”

  Frowning, I get off the chair. “Well, come on, Doc. Don’t keep me in suspense. What did they find?”

  Doctor Moore’s grey, wiry beard begins to part, revealing a huge grin of satisfaction. “Patient Zero.”

  I can feel my eyes light up the dark room, my stomach swirling with butterflies. “They found him?”

  He nods proudly. “He’s in the back of the lorry with thirty-seven others.”

  Shocked, I run both hands through my hair, and then drag out a sigh of relief. “My God. He was just at the campsite?”

  “Yes. A prisoner, I think. Looks like he’s taken a few beatings though. And a shotgun to the chest. But he’ll live.”

  I shake my head in astonishment. “Well, that is good news, Doc. I can’t wait to tell Marie.”

  “Thought you’d be pleased,” he says, making his way out of the lab.

  “Wait! What about the girl?”

  Doctor Moore turns to me, his smile nowhere to be seen. “I’m afraid she got away, Mike. Did a runner on us.”

  He leaves the room, closing the glass door behind him.

  Disappointment robs me of my good mood. I ball up my hand, wishing I had a punch bag nearby, or purebred I could knock down. But this is not the room for loud bursts of emotion, so I take a breath, and sit back down on the chair. “Sorry, old friend. Looks like she gave us the slip.” I take his hand again. “But try not to worry, Pete—we’ll find your daughter.”

  Sooner or later.

  To Be Continued…

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