No Shelter from Darkness (24 page)

“But why?”

Bill paused and his expression grew even more serious. “The existence of your kind can
never
be revealed.”

“But—”

“Why?” her father finished for her. “Possible scenarios? The revelation would spark a war between religions. There'd be civil unrest
and innocent people would be killed for suspicion. We'd end up back in the dark ages. It would be the witch trials all over again. And then there are the vampires, who would no longer have any reason to stay in the shadows, and of whose numbers we cannot be sure. It's impossible to say for certain what would happen, but bloodshed is guaranteed, and a lot of it. It's the kind of thing that would change the world.

“I don't expect you to understand, Elizabeth. It's all politics really, but trust me when I say it's better for everyone—you included—that you and your kind are kept hidden.”

It had been a flurry of information. Beth felt like she'd been given a condensed history lesson. She couldn't keep up with the questions that rushed through her mind, but the claustrophobic world in which she'd been living for the past three weeks had suddenly grown massively, and she felt lost in it.

Beth looked back down at the vampire. The flesh of his hand was half-gone, and a hole had appeared between two of the long bones in the centre of his palm, allowing Beth to see through it. A part of the bone briefly looked ivory-colored after the flesh had been completely singed off, but then it darkened too, burning silently. Meanwhile, her father could still find no way down into the pit.

“Won't it just burn away?” asked a deflated Beth.

“It's too risky,” came his brisk reply. “Without sunlight it'll take around twenty hours to fully decompose, bones and all. With sunlight it'll be gone in under half an hour; but only what's exposed. Clothing limits the exposure, and most of this one is in the shade, anyway.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

Her father looked at her without a shred of emotion. “We burn it.”

Beth felt frozen to the spot. The man—or vampire—was already dead, what harm would burning the body do? But her father's response had shocked her. This wasn't the first time she'd noticed his complacency. He came across as being unsurprised by it all, as if this was normal for him.

“How long will it take?” she asked unsteadily, trying to compose herself.

“The sun's a good catalyst, but fire's the best. Once it catches it'll be nothing but ash in a couple of minutes.” He reached into the
pocket of his trousers and pulled out his crumpled box of cigarettes, his lighter, and then a box of matches. He looked at the cigarettes, took a deep breath and threw them into the pit. Then he looked at the lighter, rubbed the face of it and put it back in his pocket. Taking a match out of the box, he struck it and cupped the flame in his hands, allowing it to consume the wood and grow. Then he flicked it down into the pit. It landed on the vampire's chest near a piece of wood, and not far from the ripped cloth of his shirt. The match stayed lit, but by the time it spent its fuel the flame hadn't ignited anything else around it.

He lit another and tried again. The match landed in the nape of the corpse's discolored, wrinkled neck and singed the collar of his shirt, but again the flame died before it took. “Damn it!”

The vampire's hand was now nothing but charred bone. Fingertips broke off and fell, collapsing in a tiny cloud of fine ash upon hitting the rubble.

Beth stared at the silent spectacle. Suddenly she conjured up a scene in her mind's eye of a witch being chased by people with pitchforks in their hands. She couldn't get it out of her head and it felt so familiar. The witch was innocent.

The witch was her.

She held out a trembling hand.

“What is it, Elizabeth?”

“Give me the matches.”

“You're not going down there, it's too dangerous.”

“People are coming.” It was an uncharacteristic lie.

“How are you going to get down?”

Forgetting the matches for now, Beth inched up to the wall of the neighboring house. About half a yard from the edge of the pit, a broken-off joist jutted out. She crouched down, putting one hand on the edge of the floor and leant over, looking like she was about to fall in. Her father flinched, but her free hand landed on the joist and she swung her legs down. Dangling above the bottom of the steps that were half covered in loose debris, she let go and fell down, landing confidently with one foot on a step and the other on what must've been the only stable block of rubble down there. She looked up at Bill and cupped her hands out in front of her, ready to catch the box of matches.

After a moment's hesitation, Bill put the box back in his pocket, took out the lighter and threw that down instead. “Don't lose it.”

“What should I light?”

“Try the trousers. As soon as they catch, they'll ignite the body.”

Crouching down, she flipped the lid. The scent of petrol rose up, and she took a second to appreciate it. Flicking the wheel created the sparks that created the flame, and she held it under the hem of a trouser leg, the one that wasn't buried.

“As soon as it takes you'll need to get back up here quickly. When these things burn, they
really
burn.”

The cloth started to smoke. Almost invisibly, a flame grew and started to burn away the fabric. Beneath it was blue-ish flesh that darkened quickly, turning black before it began to glow. Then a separate flame seemed to ignite. The heat intensified quickly and within seconds the whole leg was on fire. Beth sprang up, surprised from the burst of flames, and threw the lighter up to her father. She hopped up a step, spun around, jumped and grabbed the joist, then pulled herself up as Bill limped over to offer his hand. Beth ignored it. Putting one knee on the joist and then balancing with the opposite foot, she hopped over to the floor and looked back down. The whole body was now a mass of flames, and the stench seemed to radiate with ferocity. Smoke bellowed from under the rubble, beneath which the vampire's other leg was buried.

Suddenly a shout echoed on the air. “Hey! Hey! Fire!”

Beth froze. Already she was a part of the secret. She silently panicked about what she would say.

“Water!” shouted Bill.

Beth looked at her father in surprise.

“Get water and sand. Quick!”

His instruction had bought a minute or two. By the time the rescue worker had gone to get sand and returned over the mound, the flames had already died down. Through those that remained, Beth could just make out the charred skeleton. But the rescue worker was so quick to throw the sand it killed the flames and obliterated the bones.

Nothing remained. The clothing had burned up with the rest of it, and the rubble all around was charred black from the intense heat. It was the only proof that what had just happened really had happened.

Beth had destroyed evidence of her own kind, at the request of this man who called himself her father. She felt inhuman, alone. She looked beside her and though the face hadn't changed, Beth didn't feel like the man she was seeing was her father anymore.

Bill spoke to the worker, but through frantic thoughts Beth only picked up on a word here and there; “… moved that … fire erupted … oxygen”. It was a cover-up story. Was this going to be her life now? One lie after another? Bill's face was hard and cold. He spoke with deliberation, purpose, and made every word seem real. The worker nodded along, swept along by the confident deception.

It was clear to Beth that none of this was new to him. And knowing that, she couldn't stand to be around him for one second more.

TWENTY-FIVE

FROM GLOBE BUTCHERS,
Bill couldn't see the devastation that he'd been surrounded by the day before. Not until he turned onto Gawber Street did he see the destruction. Even in the early morning sun, it was still an eerie place, more so now that the streets were empty. The trucks would be back soon, to carry on clearing the rubble off the roads.

Under his arm he held what he and Jeff referred to as the blood-box. Beth had been consuming over a pint of blood every Tuesday. Today was Wednesday—only a day late in normal circumstances, but what he carried Beth had needed a few days before. She'd disappeared after the incident at the vampire's house and he hadn't seen her again until the evening meal. Then it was too late. With his wife gone to work, Oliver out playing and Mary gone to volunteer at the county hall, now was the perfect time.

Wincing, limping badly—even with his crutches—while concentrating on not dropping the box, Bill got back to the shell of his house. Mary and Oliver had done an amazing job cleaning it all up, but it was now empty, with a simple chain holding the front door closed and blankets covering the windows. New glass was coming that day, but there was still a lot to be done. After threading the chain through a makeshift loop to close the door, Bill walked into the living room to find Beth sitting at the kitchen table. He limped through and placed the box before her. She looked at it, taking in a deep breath, taking in the aroma that he couldn't smell. She took it with both hands and was about to step through the frame where the back door should've been.

“No one's here,” said Bill. “You don't have to go out there.”

“I'm not doing it here,” said his daughter, before she disappeared to the shelter. Bill took a deep breath, got himself a glass of water, drank it in one go and took another deep breath. He went out to join his daughter.

By the time he got down the steps, Beth had finished the jar of blood. It was empty in one hand and she was leaning against the wall. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful. He realized then how tense she'd looked before and he wondered how bad the thirst had got. He sat down on the bunk opposite. His daughter didn't move, but he knew that she knew he was there. “Where did you go yesterday?”

Beth didn't say anything.

“I'm sorry you had to go through what you did.”

“I'm not the only vampire you've met, am I?” said Beth without opening her eyes.

“No. You're not.”

“And that wasn't the first vampire you've burned.”

“No. It wasn't.”

Beth's eyes opened and her dark irises held an angry glare.
Now
she looked like a revenant. “You've been lying to me.”

“No. I've been protecting you.”

“From what?”

Bill hesitated. “From learning too much too soon.”

Beth scoffed and shook her head. “You mean from learning you're not who you say you are.”

“I'm your father.” Saying it out loud always felt odd, but this time even he had to admit it sounded like he meant it.

“No, you're not.”

Bill didn't react, at least not outwardly. Inside he felt something, like hurt. “Elizabeth—”

“Who are you, Bill? Really?”

Her bark threw him for a second or two. Then he weighed up his options. He wanted to say that the more she knew, the worse she'd feel. But he knew she wouldn't give up that easily, and Jeff's words were still ringing.
What the hell
, he thought. He shouldn't have been concerned with her feelings anyway.

Bill leant back onto a small, folded pile of blankets. Noise and clatter started to come from the bombsite as work to clear the roads
restarted. But it was distant and the sounds drifted into melody as Bill momentarily tensed his jaw before blowing air.

“It was 1926. I'd not long turned twenty-one …”

*   *   *

My old man fought in the Great War when I was becoming a young man, and like so many he gave his life for his country and those he loved. Mother couldn't cope with it, though. She tried to hold it together, but I'd hear her cry whenever she thought she was alone. When she became ill, it was like she'd wanted it, and within a couple of years she was reunited with my father. I was fifteen when I found myself without a family, so I joined a new one and followed in my father's footsteps.

And I was lucky.

The country was in economic chaos and even the army was cutting back, but I was recruited into the Engineer Corps, which turned into the Signal Corps from all the downsizing. I wanted to fight, but communications was the only thing available. Time went by, and after a few years I managed to make it over to Russia to help the White Army. I was stationed there a while and made a bit of a name for myself when I got trapped in a firefight. I stayed my ground, fought despite my limited combat training, and got noticed.

Before long I was on operations with the infantry in Ireland. Looking back it was a harrowing time, but I didn't complain and just got on with my job, and I did it well. It was when I was on leave, back here in London, when I got called up to see the Captain.

By then I was a Second Lieutenant. In those depressed times, that was an achievement of which to be proud and so I wasn't pleased when I was given charge of a delivery. Those kinds of things were what my old friends in the Signals were for. But when you're in the army, if they say jump, you ask how high.

The package was reportedly very important, entrusted to the British Army by an outside organization. As was usual when it came to secretive matters like that, details were sparse. Two men were required and I was partnered with a guy called Bettman. He was a stout fellow, shorter than me but just as rugged, and almost as well known for his heroics as I was for mine.

Back then we relied mostly on trains to get around, especially for the longer trips like this one. Our given orders were to escort our package—a metal box wrapped in thick black tape—not to an address or even a name, but to a set of map coordinates. The whole thing was stinking of some kind of routine military exercise … or a practical joke.

Our train was booked for us, and we found ourselves on our way to the middle of nowhere, with nothing but our usual gear and supplies—and strict instructions: “Recipient to verify contents of package upon receipt. Under no circumstances is package to be opened before such time.”