In The Blood (Book 4): The Blood Bath Read online

  He stared at her as she looked out at the sun's last attempts to cast light over the horizon. She had been on the run for so long, in the long shadows of the sunset he could see it on her face. Wrinkles and bags around her eyes that were heavier and deeper than they should have been for her age.

  “It's not my place,” he said. “To tell you what to do, let alone tell you how to look after your son. I'm sorry.”

  She peered over her shoulder at him, the straight line of her pursed lips curving up ever so slightly into a thin, tight smile that was reciprocated by her exhausted eyes. Her lips parted, colour returning to them. They looked fuller than Ben could remember them ever being before. Inviting. He could feel a tingle washing across his blood. Something was brewing in him, something that he thought might have been coming from her.

  But it was not emotion being transferred through the blood. Ben was distracted by Kat's reappearance, his head wasn't in the game, he wasn't listening to the blood. If he had been, he would know that the tingle rocketing through his body was an alarm for the one thing Ben feared the most.

  A shrill, whining scream tore through the silence of the night for mere moments. It was followed by the briefest sliver of an impact as metal struck metal, before an unholy eruption, a roar that might as well have been from the devil himself, echoing across their settlement. The explosion sent a shock-wave rippling through all the containers on the lot. Then, as the tremors abated, the gunfire and screams began.

  12

  Were you followed?” Ben asked, as he darted to the door, Kat trailing behind him.

  “No! We made sure!”

  Tacks were storming through the gates, stepping over dispersed remains of the free bloods that had been manning it. They fired a barrage of shotgun blasts indiscriminatingly at every man and woman they saw, blowing holes through chests and disseminating any blood that tried to coalesce through the open wounds. Entire limbs were torn from bodies, scattered across the ground. Blood tried to escape from both the disembodied parts and the flesh they were formerly attached to, attempting to coalesce and attack their aggressors, but the Tacks were too numerous, their buckshot turning the living viscous fluids to mist with sharp cracks that rung out across the camp.

  Dread came over Ben, as he ran towards the invaders. If Kat and Luke hadn't been followed then it must have been him, his attempt at communication with Tess, the stray thought that made its way through to her. He had given her their location, shown her the mental images of his plan, his fantasy of a victory over the Squad. He had all but drawn them a map to the door, and laid out the welcome mat.

  A wave of four Tacks caught sight of Ben, shouting to one another, raising their weapons in his direction. He was faster than their trigger fingers, spikes bursting forth from his chest, impaling them through the necks. There was no time to drink them down. He pulled the spikes back, their bodies slumping to the floor with dull thuds.

  “Where's Luke?” he shouted to Kat, as they hurried along the concourse to the containers that had become makeshift barracks. In his blood, he knew many of his army were hesitant to step out into the fray, and he didn't have the hubris to believe he could fight all the Tacks himself. He'd give another rousing speech if necessary, or force them out with the damn blood drive if needs be. They had to man and woman up and prove themselves the elite fighting force he had been training them to be.

  “He went to find your father,” Kat said, splintering off from Ben towards his old man's room. “I'll find them, I'll keep him safe.”

  Ben nodded to her as she disappeared behind a container. As he ran towards the cabin, he whispered to the blood coursing through his veins, begged it for help. There were over an extra hundred free bloods running around the sewers because of him, he just hoped the would get there in time.

  Barging through the door of the first container of dorms, he froze at the threshold. The walls were caked in a thin mist of blood. Sixteen bodies had been torn asunder across the floors and beds, sheets stained with a mush that might have once been organs and internal fluids. The ones that were mostly whole were dessicated, skin tight and brittle against their bones, large tears in their clothing, deep tears through their dry flesh. Tacks had taken the fighters down, the rest had been drunk down. Ben could feel the tingle still flowing though his body. Steve was there, somewhere deep in the fray, and he was having his fill at the grand banquet that Ben had unwittingly put together for him.

  He tore out of the cabin and entered the next one, finding four Tacks sending the last surviving members of that garrison to their deaths with blasts that sounded ten times louder as they rung off the walls of the metal container. The skin on Ben's hands tore open, razor sharp blades ossifying from the blood that emerged. Whipping his arms behind them, he beheaded the four men, their bodies falling, their blood spurting out across the barracks. Ben checked the bodies, one or two of them were still breathing, albeit barely. He directed the blood-flow from the Tacks towards the survivors, hoping that what was left of their blood would feed from it and heal them.

  The gunfire continued to crack and clap across the campus. There were more Tacks out there, but that also meant there were more of his army that had survived.

  Please, he begged the free blood, as he came out of the container, following the path back, to head in the direction Kat had gone. Please hurry.

  He felt his back explode before he heard the shot. It was like a punch, knocked the air from his lungs and sent him to the floor. There was a chill, unlike any he had ever felt before. It wasn't his skin being cold, it was raw muscle out in the night's air. A tentacle burst out from the torn sinew and wrapped around the Tack's neck before he could fire again. His neck cracked as loud as the shotgun blast, the tentacle lifted him off the air, whipped him around like a rag doll to knock other Tacks into the containers on either side of them, their bones fracturing with the sheer force. With a swift movement, the tentacle threw the Tack's body at a further collection of Tacks, sending them to the floor too.

  Ben pulled the blood back. It began sealing the massive damage done to his body, but he could feel it needed more fluids. He forced himself through the pain, to walk towards the injured Tacks, hands still covered with razor sharp blades, he dug them deep into the chests of two of the men. He could feel his musculature stitching back together, his skin regrowing. Ben let the blood have its fill, not too much to make him fat and sluggish. He still needed to be quick on his feet.

  At the sound of gunfire, Ben burst into a run. He came round the corner of the containers and dashed through the passageway to his father's room. The blasts continued to ring out, flashing in the portholes ahead like sheet lightning. Coming to the door, he found four Tacks with their weapons primed, the buckshot was taking chunks out of a giant brown egg at the centre of the room. Another tingle, the blood whispering, but this time he was listening to what it had to say. A snake burrowed out of his gut, a black diamond of a head tearing through his skin as it swum through the air. The serpent ripped through the four Tacks one after another, the diamond tip coming back around in an ouroboros, ploughing back into Ben's body. The tail broke off, whipping back around the room along the circle the snake's head had made in the air, tracing its path and sealing the wound up behind it.

  The surface on the giant egg began to undulate, liquefy, and broke apart into five free bloods. Kat and Luke had been at its centre, her braced around him, as if she had tried to use herself as a human shield.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taking her hand, helping her back to her feet.

  She nodded. “The others?”

  “Most are dead...”

  “Steve?”

  Ben raised his head, tried to listen to the flow of the blood through his veins. “Still here,” he said, gravely. He might have taken casualties, too many casualties, but he wasn't going to let MacGaulty get away, not again.

  Arms wrapped around his waist. Luke, hugging him close.

  “You okay?” Ben asked.

  The c
hild looked up at him, nodded, big blue eyes glassy, but he was staying strong, wouldn't let the tears fall.

  “I need to get you safe,” Ben said. “Then I'll find Steve.”

  “We can look after ourselves.” Kat said.

  Ben glanced up from the boy, caught her eye. She wasn't some damsel, didn't need to be rescued. She was strong, she had control of the blood, and she was – and always had been – willing to do whatever it took to keep her son safe. “I know,” he said.

  “You sure you can do it?” Kat asked. “Kill him?”

  Ben was. Steve may have gallons upon gallons of blood in his body, but he didn't truly know what to do with it. Plus, Ben knew his tactics, or more accurately the one tactic he used over and over; feigning weakness and counter-attacking whilst his opponent was distracted.

  “Is that boat still moored round the back?” Kat asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “We'll go there, take all the survivors we find there. Tide's out, they won't be able to see it over the bank unless they look for it...”

  “That's smart,” Ben said. “About the closest thing we have to a hiding place out here...” He hated himself for agreeing to hide out at Container City. One way in and out seemed smart and secure when it was first mentioned, but now that they were under attack, he wished there were other ways out. But he couldn't dwell on that, had to push the self-loathing aside for a little while longer.

  “What about your dad?” she asked, as he made to walk back towards the fray.

  “I'll find him, send him in your direction.”

  “And then...”

  “I'm going to find MacGaulty, siphon every last millilitre of blood from his damn body, and burn it alive.”

  13

  The blood was leading Ben, the tingles under his skin acting as a divining rod, sending him through the labyrinthine passageways under and between the containers back towards the concourse. The blasts of shotguns had long stopped, and he was cautious as he neared the open square. He feared they had ceased fire because all forty six of his army had been blown apart. Or, the Tacks could be lying in wait for him or any injured to wander out, a firing squad at the ready to take them down.

  He peeked out at the cobbled plaza, the once utilitarian grey of the stones covered in an undulating slick of thick, dark red. The blood was trying to coalesce, but it had been heavily dissipated, was weak, and would take some time to recover, assuming it could recover at all.

  There was no firing squad waiting. Ben couldn't help but wonder if that was because all the Tacks had been killed. The blood was still tingling, telling him that Steve was ahead, close to what was left of the warped metal of the gate. He readied himself, whispered thoughts through to the blood, thanking it for its continuing help and support, and stepped out into the square.

  Teeth dug in to his shoulder, massive brown triangles that tore at the flesh, grazed against the bone. Ben's blood boiled with anger at the assault, a mass of thin spikes shooting out as his plasma flowed into the 'goblin's gullet back to its host. The spikes turned, spinning like the blade of a food processor, exploding the globular creature across the face of its maker.

  Blood burst from his hand and wrist forming a massive razor sharp blade around his fist. He pulled back his arm to drive it into Steve's throat and stopped, scabrous weapon held in the air. It wasn't MacGaulty, but he recognised his attacker. It was one of the Tacks he had rescued from Chris's blood at the warehouse.

  “You!” he found himself saying.

  The Tack looked at him with disdain, glaring through the plastic shield of his visor. Ben watched the man intently, all too aware of the placement of his hands and how close they were to the blades secreted on his body armour.

  “You remember me, right?” Ben asked. “Remember I saved your life?”

  “You call this saved?!” the Tack spat. “Leaving me with this... curse!”

  “It's not a curse, not if you learn how to live with it, how to talk to it.”

  “Talk to it! You think I want to bloody talk to it! I wish I were dead, but I can't die. You know how many times I've tried to take my damn life? Cutting doesn't work, obviously, but overdoses, jumping off bridges, drowning, the damn blood doesn't let me die... it wants me to suffer, live in a god-damn purgatory - -”

  “-- It's trying to save you, keep you alive.”

  “Well I don't bloody want to live.”

  Ben could see the man's fingers twitching by the hilt of a blade. He knew there must be a way to get through to him. He didn't have to die. Other than Steve, nobody else had to die that day.

  “We have a cure,” he said. “My father, he created this thing, and he can get it out of your system... if you'll let him... if you'll trust us.”

  “Trust!” The Tack laughed. A cackle that was all too similar to the ominous chuckle that was ever-present in conversation with Steve. The Tack laughed harder, looked up to the sky as bellowing guffaws burst fourth from his mouth. Ben sighed, swallowed over a lump in his throat as he saw the Tack's fingers slide across to the blade as the laughs continued to roar out. He was about to cut himself.

  Ben didn't let him have a chance. Another long blade of blood burst out of his other wrist and he drove both hands into the Tack's chest, ripping the to halves apart like a Christmas cracker. His frail shell burst open, skin and bone flying across the cobbles. His blood remained in place where he once stood. And it was angry. The newly freed blood pounced towards Ben, just as Chris's had come for the Tacks. But now, he was prepared and trained for such a thing. The blood around his hands shifted back to a liquid state, forming a glove that caught the attacking 'goblin. It wrapped itself around the creature, sealing it in, and hardened into a thick, ebony sphere.

  The blood was angry, confused, still flowing with the rage and intent of the dead man it had come from. Ben settled the ball of solid blood on the ground. It rocked back and forth as the fiend inside tried to break out. It just needed time, Ben told himself, and then it will be ready to come out of the cocoon, a calm and peaceful rebirth.

  He dove back into his mind, tried to latch back on to the tingle in his blood, the dowser that had been pointing the way to Steve. It was there, but only barely. Ben stepped out across the cobbled plaza, all too aware that there might still be Tacks in the vicinity. His blood was primed, ready to burst forth at a moment's notice. Crossing the square, he passed body after body of his recruits and the Squad. His men and woman had tried to fight, that was more than clear, but they were unprepared for the assault that came for them. Ben's hubris had got the better of him, if they weren't prepared for the Tacks storming the gates of their compound, how would they have been expected to deal with the legions of armed goons at their headquarters. It would have been a slaughter. But, Ben asked himself, what was this if not a slaughter. A massacre that he was responsible for, not only for bringing these people together, but for the errant thought he send through to Tess. These lives, these deaths, were all on him.

  There was movement in his periphery. Spikes tore through Ben's flesh, blades forming around his hands again. He would be prepared for whatever came for him. Only the crash of the waves against the banks sounded out. The river's judgemental sigh. He withdrew the spikes, the blades, and turned on his heel to follow the direction the blood was leading him.

  Again, more movement in the periphery. However, this time, it came with a familiar feeling that washed over him, a warmth, as free blood crawled up the sides of the banks, making its way over and under and through the railings. Hundreds of them, all surveying the scene, all making gurgling noises that seemed almost mournful, as they slid through the corpses, body parts of friend and enemy torn asunder and intermingled. When it came down to it, flesh was flesh, infection or none the consciousness behind the wheel mattered not. They mourned for the loss of life for one and all.

  Ben lingered his gaze on them, and wished he still had that level of humanity, that childlike innocence. But it had long shed, since he was an actual child, since
his mother's death led him on this path. A path that he knew he had to resume.

  Listening to the blood in his veins once more, Ben turned on his heel. The tingle was stronger now, closer, back in the opposite direction. He made his way back into the catacombs of Container City, under its passageways and into a building off the side. Walls of concrete and brick, built before some giant left their Lego blocks lying around. The wooden door was barely a door any more, reduced to large gnarled splinters attached to the hinges. The main body of it was on the floor, in pieces, large teeth marks in the wood. A 'goblin had been at it.

  Ben stepped towards it with trepidation. His blood was leading the way, and that could only mean that Steve was inside. Once more, he called spikes to rip through his chest, and the giant blades to coalesce around his fists. He was going to end this, but not for himself. It was for his lost army, for his dead friends, for Kat's massacred group, and for his murdered mother. The blood had felt like such a boon these last few days, he had forgotten how much pain, suffering and death orbited around it. This was what it all came down to. To him, and to Steve. And only one of them was going to leave that building alive.

  Stepping through the threshold, the hallway was a mess, scratches from massive teeth across the floors, large man-sized dents in the thin plasterboard walls. The blood drove him forward, ignoring the signs of carnage, one singular purpose flowing through its amorphous mind.

  Left, it told Ben, tingling along his arm, making him take a corner and walk through another door destroyed at the end of the hallway. He did as it commanded, the plasma seemed to want him to end this as much as he did, picking up pace as it coursed through his body, making his heart work overtime as massive amounts of adrenalin were released. He was so close now, to all that vengeance, it was tangible, tactile, Ben could swear there was even the taste it on his tongue.