In The Blood (Book 3): The Blood Flows Page 6

  The wind rushed by them as they fell, feeling cold and hard on their faces as the ground came ever closer with every passing second. Then, there was no ground. From a sewer grate burst a mighty tornado of blood, that grabbed them as they came oh so close to becoming stains on the parking lot below. The blood around them was soft, squishy almost, warm, and deposited them unharmed on their feet.

  “I didn't know they could do that!” his father said, eyes wide, excited at the prospect of the free blood's evolution.

  The blood returned to the sewer, and Ben grabbed hold of his father by the coat, ushering him out of the parking lot, towards the busy road that ran alongside the tower.

  “There better be something you do bloody know,” Ben spat, through gasps for breath. “Because we've gone through a hell of a trek to find you...”

  19

  They ran, no direction in mind, no thought but to escape from the Tacks. It would have taken them seconds to come through from the stairwell. They might have seen the smashed window at the end of the hall and turned back around straight away, or maybe checked the apartment briefly before coming back down. Either way, they were only minutes behind them, two for the former, four or five for the latter. So Ben and his father ran. Across busy streets, darting into alleys, crissing and crossing, trying to avoid security cameras at every possible moment, as hard as that was in central London.

  Ben was all too aware that his father was lagging behind, his breath heavy, limbs even more so. He pulled the old man into a small path that led between two houses, and they hid behind a fence.

  “Amazing...” the old man said, between wheezes. “It's... oxygenating your blood... adapting to the stress... so you don't... get out of breath.”

  “Yeah, it's bloody marvellous...” Ben spat, rolling his eyes.

  “Tell me... Are you healthy?”

  “Healthy? Bloody healthy? My blood kills people, thanks to you.”

  “But you have no symptoms... of the disease...”

  “You seem to be ignoring, and I re-stress this, that my blood is alive, and eats people!”

  “A minor side effect...”

  “Minor,” Ben laughed incredulously, and kicked at the ground.

  There was a sound that reacted to his feet meeting the dirt, a scuffle behind them. A spike of blood shot out of Ben's wrist as he turned to the source of the noise. A bright red dog's nose was sniffing away under the fence. He peered over and looked down, a 'goblin was on the other side. It removed its nose, which withdrew back into its body, and grew legs and a tail, beckoning with the latter for them to follow.

  Ben grabbed hold of his father's arm and pulled him to his feet. “Time to move,' he ordered, pushing him back out on to the street.

  “I had to do it, you know,” the old man said, as his son hustled him along the road, following the blood's hasty strut ahead.

  “Leave us? Leave me after she died – after I killed her?!”

  “You didn't kill her...” his father said. “It did...”

  “It is me.”

  The old man didn't know what to say to that.

  “You could have replied to a damn email at least...”

  “Email?” He raised his voice at the mere mention of the word. “I wish I had the luxury of checking my emails! This hasn't exactly been a picnic for me either.”

  Ben turned to him. The old man's eyes were down to the ground, he couldn't bare to look at his son, especially after that outburst.

  “I had to leave...” he muttered. “To keep you safe. It was the only way.”

  “You left her,” Ben spat back. “Were you even around when she died? Did you come to the funeral? Did you even love her? She died, and where the hell were you?”

  His father said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.

  20

  They had circled around Camden, going round themselves to get to the river. The blood signalled for them to hang back at a corner whilst it scouted ahead. The path under the bridge was blocked off, they'd have to cross over Camden Road to enter the sewer on the other side, and it wanted to be sure the coast was clear. Once again, Ben found himself feeling all too reliant on the free blood for his safety, but he dare not say anything to his father.

  The old man still didn't have anything to say for himself, and Ben was happy with that, if he heard one more selfish or self-righteous thing from him, he was going to punch his patriarch right in the face.

  Instead, he focussed on what mattered, Luke and Kat, he needed to know they were safe. He could wait for the blood to come back, for them to enter the sewer and see them for himself, he knew that, but it wasn't immediate enough. He closed his eyes, and let the throbbing in his head take over. He could feel it, feel Luke, he was there, he was safe. But he was also afraid. Ben needed to get to them, to take his father to them, to get the answers they all deserved. The blood hadn't come back yet.

  He huffed, and decided it was time to throw caution to the wind, coming out from behind the corner. The old man followed him, stepping behind him with trepidation. As they walked up from the river to the road, Ben saw the peaks of all too familiar matte black vans poking out from over the bridge. A snap rang out over the street, a viscous red spattering across the tarmac, making it slick. A shotgun blast had dispersed the blood that had led the two of that far. With a thought, he sent out the call for reinforcements, as scabby blades tore through his skin. `

  The Tacks didn't stand a chance, attacked from the front by giant, forking tentacles of blood coming from Ben's body. Free blood launching themselves from sewer grates, gnawing and ripping their bodies to shreds.

  An anger was bubbling in Ben's head. He hated that a 'goblin lost its life for him. Hated the Tacks, and currently hated his father. His tentacles launched towards the back of a van, tearing through the door, pulling it from its hinges and flinging it across the road. Further blood spikes burst from his chest and skewered two Tacks that were cowering inside, piercing their necks and sending their fluids back to him. He was going to get his fill, and rip all those bastards limb from limb.

  The second van sat motionless. A tingle washed across the inside of his skull. Steve. He was near. Ben stopped draining the Tacks, following the feeling in his blood. As he walked over to the other van, his tentacles trailed behind him, heading over to the dispersed remains of their 'goblin guide. A crude mouth formed at the end of each of the glimmering arms, and spat up plasma over the road, in the hope that it might aid the free blood's recovery. He had no evidence that such a thing might work, but it was the least he could do.

  The tentacles whipped back to the van, metal screeching as they tore through it with thick black spikes. The doors buckled and swung back with the might of the blood. Ben saw a flash of light, two glimmers coming for him that he wasn't fast enough to react to. His limbs tensed as the voltage rocketed through his body. The tentacles lost their form, their viscosity, instantly turning back to liquid that fell to the floor, splashing against the van and road. The gashes in his back continued to bleed, hard and fast, he could feel the cold breeze on his back as it caught the blood trickling steadily down, becoming warmer, as it mingled with urine, seeping into his pants, heeding the call of gravity.

  Ben's father watched in horror as his son collapsed, shaking violently as the electricity surged through him. He wanted to help, but knew he was powerless, taking slow, careful steps back down towards the river. Feeling something hard and sharp at his lower back, he stopped in an instant. It was the blade of the knife, digging with intent at the base of his spinal column. Then a voice, close, whispering in his ear from behind.

  “Don't you bloody move an inch.”

  21

  Ben came to, groggy and weak. The sound of the van's engine roared around him, bumping him around as the tyres kissed the uneven road. He tried to move and found his hands not only bound, but shackled to the bench in the back of the van, His back ached as he strained, the skin tight, as if it was new and thin. His vision was blurry, unable to f
ocus on the interior around him. He gritted his teeth and fought through the pain, as he tried to summon blood to break the bonds around his wrists. The blood did not obey, he had lost too much when the tentacles were destroyed.

  “Any luck on your adventures?” asked a voice from beyond the blur.

  Ben looked around, tried to will his eyes to focus. The voice was breathy, words from fat cheeks, thin lips, a very faint tingle in his head as he registered them.

  “Or more specifically, any luck finding your dear old dad...” There was an ugly chuckle that followed the words. Ben didn't need to be able to see the speaker to recognise him. It was Steve.

  His eyes found a shape and zeroed in on it. The thing looked like a mass of black, taking up almost all of the free space in the back of the van. It was Steve all right, and he was twice the size he was when Ben last saw him. Great rolls of flesh hung from his bones, he had swallowed down the juices of every member of the group, probably all the dead tacks along the way too. His chuckle was accompanied by a thick, watery gurgle, as if his words came from something more liquid than man.

  “Glad... to see... you survived...” Ben said, in barely more than a whisper. The words grated over his throat with exhausted gasps.

  “Are you now?” the gelatinous man said, curiously.

  “Now... I can kill you... myself..!”

  Steve chuckled again, all too entertained at his former student's wrath. He knew he had nothing to fear from the boy, well aware of how little blood he had left in his body. “I'd be happy to give you a free shot.” He held his mammoth arms out, as if waiting for a punch from Ben. Another chuckle, the smile remaining on his lips, but dissipating from his eyes almost instantly. “The blood, the free blood, I want control over it.”

  “Good luck with that...” Ben spat.

  “It seems to respond to you, do as you wish. You're going to teach me how to command it.”

  “You wouldn't know what to do with it...” Ben said, lowering his head. He could feel blood propagating in his body, new blood cells being spat out at an accelerated rate by his bone marrow. He was healing, but it was still slow. “How about... I teach you how to go screw yourself?” He laughed, and dug his incisors into his cheek, blood dribbling into his mouth.

  “Oh, you're all talk now... but once we get you back into a cell, back on a diet of sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, and starvation, then we'll see how talkative you are...”

  Ben fashioned the blood in his mouth into a tiny worm. It sneaked out of the corner of his lips and slunk away past his cheek, down the back of his neck.

  “So, why not make things easy on yourself?” Steve asked. “Easy on all of us...”

  The tiny crimson snake found its way into the front of the van, observing that there was only one Tack present, the driver. Ben could see the images in his mind, picture it clear as day. He raised his head, eyes locking on Steve, but it was not Steve that he was looking at.

  In the front of the van, the blood shot around the driver's neck, a silken thread that constricted, tightening his oesophagus. It became hard, tightening further, then made its edges sharp, tearing through the driver's skin, as it brought its circumference in, ripping through the flesh of his neck.

  The van rocked, swerving wildly. A smile came across Ben's face, a look of horror on Steve's, as he slammed into the wall of the van as it capsized. Ben held on to his bonds. They were firmly attached to the frame of the bench, he wasn't going anywhere. The van continued to rocket along the road at speed, an ungodly screech screaming out around them.

  With an almighty clang, it came to a stop, Steve's body rolled forward, almost smothering Ben in the process. He tugged at his bonds with weak hands, trying to break free, as he suddenly became aware of a slick pool of blood starting to form under his mentor's head. The pool began to ripple, an angry mouth forming in it, as a glutinous beast pulled itself up from the ground, gaining mass from the litres upon litres of extra blood the fat man had devoured.

  Ben closed his eyes. Took a breath, and let a smile linger on his lips, listening to the pulse that vibrated through his skull. In it, he found peace, calm. A warmth spread out through his body. A serenity. His father was safe. Luke and Kat were safe. That was all that mattered. He took a deep breath, smiled, and accepted his fate.

  22

  Ben exhaled slowly, the warm breath hovering in the air around his lips. He was still alive, the blood that coalesced from Steve's head wound hadn't dug its jagged, scabby teeth into his flesh. Opening his eyes, the crimson fiend was simply hanging in the air in front of him. It sniffed a watery snuffle, with deep purple nostrils above its hideous mouth, as if trying to decide if Ben were friend or food.

  There was movement in the corner of Ben's field of vision, something coming towards him from the front of the van. The blood he had used to strangle the driver was back, but it was much larger than when it left. It slid along the wall of the van under him, forming a sharp, toothy blade that sawed through his bonds. The glistening crimson snake slunk up his back, round his shoulder and entered Ben's body through his mouth and nose. Ben tried to empty his lungs and cease breathing momentarily, as the fluids glided into his body, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. It wasn't just his blood returning, he could feel it, the driver's blood was filling him too. The skin on his back, that was thin and tight, began to heal faster, becoming thicker, stretchier. He felt strong again, and forced himself to his feet.

  The syrupy beast from Steve's injury observed him, snarling, watching him with bright red eyes. Ben stared at the monster, smiled wider, and stretched his fingers out. He tried to reach the pulsing in his skull, tried to communicate with the blood to burst forth from his body, to devour the monster, to send a thousand spikes deep into the fat flesh of Steve's unconscious body. But it did not respond.

  He got down on his knees, punched Steve in the gut, hit him again, and again, begging for the blood in his body to launch out and kill his former mentor. It did not. He wasn't able to communicate his desires to it. Perhaps, he reasoned, he was still too weak. That didn't stop him from burying fist after fist into the doughy layers of his captor's gut.

  The blood coming from Steve's body narrowed its eyes, jaws clacking. It did not appreciate its host being pummelled. The viscous thing raised its head, opened its mouth wide, arcing forward, teeth yearning for flesh.

  Ben darted back, fell against the doors of the van. His hand found the release, and the door fell open, slamming to the ground. He rolled back over himself, tarmac hard under his back, grit grazing his cheeks. The creature gnashed its teeth, twisting and turning its body to come through the doors, bearing down over Ben.

  His attention was elsewhere. There were people in the street, a crowd around him. Onlookers staring with wide eyes and dropped jaws at the spectacle of not only the van's crash, but now the demon that was emerging from its rear. Cameras flashed, phones recording the spectacle. The creature growing ever angrier, ever hungrier with every passing moment. The assembled mass was a grand buffet.

  Forcing himself to his feet, Ben felt the cool air on his cheek. The skin was torn, blood seeping out. He gritted his teeth and whispered to it, begging the fluids to launch themselves at the monster, take chunks out of its viscid body.

  The blood that trickled out was slow, weak, it took the form of a serpent that swum through the air. At its head, it was still pure, glimmering red. Ben had lost too much blood, it was struggling to clot, to harden, to form teeth.

  A horn sounded, from somewhere behind the crowd, and as they parted, a ruby fist flew through the air, splattering Steve's blood across the van, dispersing the brute. An eye for an eye, for the free blood that got the same treatment.

  The fist receded, as a screech of tyres whined out behind Ben. He turned, Kat at the wheel of a car, Luke in the passenger seat, the blood fist returning to his body. The back door opened, his father struggling to unbuckle his seat belt and move to make room for him.

  “Get in!” Kat shouted,
as Ben stared, dazed, the blood snake still hanging from his cheek. He pulled it back in as he stepped into the car, slamming the door behind him.

  “Finish the damn story,” he spat at his old man, as Kat turned the car around and started taking them as far away from the scene of the accident as possible.

  The head of the blood snake was still at his cheek, snapping an angry, toothless mouth, intense red eyes glaring at its creator's father. Its attack was held back by only the thinnest veil over Ben's rage.

  23

  “They know you all, they've always known you,” his father said.

  “What do you mean?” Kat asked.

  “All the patients from the study, all the people they've had contact with, they've kept tabs on everyone involved with the treatment.”

  “How?” Ben asked. “How do they know who those people are?”

  “From my files...” the old man said, with regret all over his face. “My paper records in Brighton, the hard drives I had in Hamburg.”

  “But you've been keeping track too, right?”

  “Not to the same degree... I hired some private investigators, but that's hardly a comparison to the state's capabilities.”

  “How many are there now?” Ben asked. “How many infected?”

  “It must be close to twenty thousand, maybe more...”

  “That they're either turning, making them work for them,” Kat huffed, gaze finding Ben in the rear view mirror. “Or killing, slaughtering,” she spat, her eyes becoming glassy at the memory of her friends lost to the battle.

  “Not just killing,” Ben said. “Steve's been taking his fill on them, devouring their god-damn blood like a milkshake. He wants control of it all, all the infected blood, all the free blood.”

  “Steve... MacGaulty?” his father stammered.

  “Old friend?” Ben scoffed, not in the slightest bit surprised to discover his father and Steve had a connection. He was now more than used to his former mentor having his fat, gelatinous fingers on every piece of the puzzle.