Will Hill - Battle Lines

AH: They do. They bite people, and if their victim doesn’t die, they turn into a vampire as well.

JS: So why aren’t there thousands of them? Why don’t I see them on every street corner?

AH: As far as I understand, it’s because very few of their victims survive. And because Blacklight works very hard to keep them secret.

(pause)

JS: What do you want me to do with all this, Albert?

AH: I don’t understand the question.

JS: You’re a smart man. You know every editor in the country is going to laugh me out of their office if I write this up and submit it. Nobody is going to believe it. I’m sitting here looking at you and I believe you mean every word you’ve said, but even I can’t accept it as the truth. I just don’t see how it can be. How come nobody has ever broken ranks before? Why has no vampire ever come forward? Why aren’t the papers full of missing persons and bodies found drained of blood? You see what I’m saying?

AH: You are a journalist, aren’t you?

JS: Yeah.

AH: Then do your job. Everything I’ve told you is the truth. So dig, Mr Supernova. Find out what you can. If you can’t find anything to back up what I’m saying, then forget it, with my blessing. But if you can, if you can find any tiny little thing that corroborates what I’ve told you, you will find yourself in possession of the biggest exclusive in the history of humanity. Surely that’s worth a few days of your time, even if all it does is confirm that you were right about me all along. As for why nobody has ever broken ranks? I would imagine that the members of Blacklight would find it very difficult to speak to anyone without being monitored, and even if they did, I’m sure they would swiftly find themselves facing a court-martial. And the vampires? Why would they make themselves known? So that all their potential victims know they exist, so that the government can declare open war on them? And finally, Mr Supernova, I’m sorry to have to tell you that the papers are full of missing persons, and people who have had terrible things done to them. And that’s not even allowing for the hundreds of dead and disappeared who never make the pages of the tabloids.

(pause)

JS: I think we’re done here, Albert.

AH: I think so too.

JS: Where can I find you? If I need to follow up on any of this.

AH: You can’t. If I’m still alive in a few months’ time, if neither the vampires nor Blacklight get me, I’ll find you.

JS: This is ridiculous. You know that, don’t you? It’s nuts.

AH: Just do your job, Mr Supernova. That’s the only advice I have for you. Treat it like any other story and see what you can turn up. I wish you the very best of luck, I honestly do.

JS: Cheers. I think.

(tape ends)

Kevin McKenna dropped the transcript on to his desk and exhaled heavily; it felt like he had been holding his breath the entire time he had been reading. The dead cigarette fell from his lips, making him jump; he had forgotten all about it.

Jesus, Johnny , he thought. How desperate were you?

The transcript was nonsense, so much so that McKenna felt almost embarrassed for his former mentor. This kind of tattling, tabloid silliness was so far beneath the Johnny Supernova he had once known that it made him genuinely sad.

Things must have been so much worse than I realised. The Johnny I used to know would have laughed this guy out of his flat.

McKenna got up from his chair and flicked through the rest of the folder. It contained four or five pages of notes, written in Johnny Supernova’s distinctive sloping scrawl. He gathered them up, held them over the wire rubbish bin that sat beside his desk, then paused.

He left you this in his will. It’s disrespectful just to throw it out.

He put the folder back on his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked quickly out of his office. A minute later he was in the elevator, checking his watch.

Should still be able to catch the second half , he thought.

Then a pang of sadness gripped his heart. He had not really thought about Johnny Supernova in a long time, not even when the obituaries ran in the newspapers and magazines. By then, they had long since ceased to live in the same world.

Goodbye, Johnny. Sleep well, you crazy bastard.

“I’ve lost him!” shouted Alex Jacobs. “Next level up!”

Angela Darcy swore and ran for the concrete ramp, John Carlisle keeping pace at her side.

Operational Squad F-5 had been about to head back to the Loop when the call had come through from the Surveillance Division, informing them of a new target. Squad Leader Angela Darcy had asked no questions; she had merely told their driver to head for the new coordinates, as fast as possible.

She was tired, and knew her squad felt the same. They had taken down a vampire in the north London suburbs, a routine operation that had been perfect for Carlisle. The rookie had been with the SBS in Portsmouth until barely a month earlier, when recruitment to replace the men and women lost during Valeri’s attack had begun in earnest, and he had been summoned to Blacklight to begin his training. He was doing well under Angela’s tutelage; she had been encouraged by the poise and calm he had displayed on his two missions so far, characteristics that she had long since come to take for granted from Alex Jacobs. The quiet, experienced Operator had spent long spells in the Intelligence and Security Divisions, but had requested reinstatement to the active roster immediately after the attack that had hurt the Department so badly. Angela had watched him closely for the first few days, looking for signs of Operational rust, but quickly realised she had nothing to worry about; Jacobs had slipped into the black Operator’s uniform as though he had never taken it off.

They had found their target, a disoriented, raving vampire in his early twenties wearing the tattered remains of a white hospital gown, exactly where the Surveillance Division had told them they would: in a rail freight yard outside Stevenage station. Angela had led her squad towards him with their weapons drawn, ready to put one more vampire out of its misery before heading for home and the warm comfort of their beds. The target had backed away from them, his eyes glowing red, twitching and twisting like a cornered animal. Angela had been about to give the order to fire when the vampire, its eyes wide with confused panic, turned, sprinted across the metal rails, and leapt over a brick wall into the second level of the multi-storey car park that served the station.

Angela gasped. The vampire had been little more than a blur, a streak of white that had been gone before she could even tighten her finger on her T-Bone’s trigger.

“Jesus,” said Carlisle. The rookie was staring up at the looming concrete structure of the car park. “I’ve never seen anything move that fast.”

Jacobs said nothing; he simply turned, raised his visor and gave Angela a look whose meaning was clear.

Neither have I.

Angela felt the faintest flicker of unease in her stomach and pushed it down. “Follow me,” she said.

She led them back along the deserted platforms and out of the empty station. The car park rose tall against the night sky, an ugly lump of concrete, lit weakly from within by flickering yellow light.

“Do you think he’s still in there?” asked Jacobs.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the towering building. “Let’s find out.”

Angela’s boots thudded on the concrete as she ran up on to the car park’s uppermost level. They had chased the vampire up through the structure, getting little more than a glimpse of him on each floor, and she felt a surge of relief as she crested the ramp and surveyed the wide-open area.