Antithesis: The Vampire Alliance Book Three - FIRST DRAFT COMPLETED

Antithesis Chapter 5: Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan May 2013

Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan, May 2013

One of the many benefits of this modern world is the ability to get anything you want at the click of a button. That includes printing your own fake tattoo transfers should you need to pretend to be a Redeemer. Being permanently branded is absolutely out of the question, but even if we were willing to mar our skins in the name of duty we don’t have time for real tattoos.

The only way a vampire can get a real tattoo is by finding an elemental creature, a creature who can use supernatural forces to permanently change a part of the body.  It’s not like demon and fey kind are easy to track down but normal pigment injected into the skin would simply be rejected by our bodies. We’d need to find an incubi or succubi or another ‘demon’ to get permanent tattoos.

Tul tells me that’s how real Redeemers do it. I’m not at all comfortable with that idea, especially as I’ve only just been told that incubi, succubi and what equates to sorcery does actually exist. I’m trying not to be shocked considering that I am, myself, an unbelievable creature. It’s proving harder to control my surprise and disbelief than I would’ve thought however. Believing in vampires had been so much easier than believing in succubi, with their ability to change small areas of the body and create illusions.

Still, I don’t need to worry about that presently; the tattoo transfers have done their job well enough. The swirling Rs on our necks are convincing replicas of the Redeemer brand, as long as no one gets too close. To be fair, if I have a Redeemer close enough to my throat to realise that my tattoo isn’t real then I’m probably in a world of trouble anyway.

“I’m about as happy with the tattoo as I was the one time I had to wear an Enforcers uniform,” I comment as we stop the van in front of the barbed wire topped perimeter wall.

Tul shrugs, “I know, but without it they’re more likely to grow suspicious. I’d rather this than raise their suspicions, especially as Redeemers are known for a certain degree of ruthlessness.” As he re-checks the various knives and guns strapped to his body, Tul looks ready to face any ruthlessness head on, at least.

Wincing, I nod. “Oh, I know, I can remember my windpipe being crushed quite clearly.” Feeling Rob’s sudden fury I confess, “Sorry, I’d forgotten I hadn’t told you about that. Turns out it’s a bad idea for a Mina to outlive her husband, especially if her husband was famous.”

“Or if the Mina becomes infamous,” Tul adds, leaning over to kiss me. “Which you did, the moment you stepped onto that bloody stage.”

“And I’ve been cultivating my reputation ever since. I also have no doubt I will continue to do so. If we succeed here I may well cement my reputation evermore.”

As the second van pulls up beside us I wind down my window. Everything looks clear but as I inhale I can read a wealth of information that a human wouldn’t even notice. The scent of blood is strong but not pleasant, not contaminated as it is by the scent of sweat and excrement and terror. The place reeks of old faeces and urine, old sex, death and decay. So much suffering has taken place here; that’s obvious even before we enter the grounds. This can’t be a recently acquired farm. This facility must’ve been operational for years to stink as it does. There are decades of fear and pain seeping out of its very structure.

Craig opens the door of the other vehicle and climbs down onto the road. “Let’s get this over with,” he murmurs as he passes my window, “The sooner we get in the sooner we can get out again.”

Striding past the sign which declares the facility had once been one of Her Majesties prisons, Craig makes his way to the booth next to the gate. Handing his fake identification to the guard we watch in nervous anticipation as the man scrutinises the plastic card then gives the tattoo on Craig’s throat a cursory glance.
“How many of you are there?” The guard asks as he looks over at our vans. “And what’s your business?”

“Five contractors, three in the first van, myself and another in the second,” Craig answers before reciting our fabricated tale. “We’re here to survey the building so we can put proper facilities management in place. We’re losing too much of the livestock to disease, you know. The Senate are considering upgrading to a more hi-tech, more hygienic way of running things. They want to extend the useful life of the mortals.”

“Fucking Senate,” the guard answers in a snarl. “It’s going to end up like the breeding facilities, isn’t it? We even have to provide doctors these days. I mean the cows are just calving, I don’t see why they need so much attention. So what if a few die from complications?”

An angry growl rumbles in my throat, despite my attempts to remain calm. How can anyone be so cruel, so callous? If I’d been at the booth I may have struggled not to tear the guards arm right off as he handed me my identification. Luckily Craig is far more adept at keeping his cool than I appear to be.

For his part the guard doesn’t seem at all suspicious of us. Still, it’s a relief when he nods to the gate, saying, “You’re clear.”

Returning to his van, Craig climbs back into the driver’s seat. He grins at me as he teases, “Ok, we’re in. Now we just have to get back out again. Sure hope your vision was a good indicator.”

When we enter the compound I have to forcibly prevent myself from tensing as the gates swing shut behind us. We follow the signs to the car park and I shudder at the thought of leaving the confines of the van. Everything about this facility screams neglect, from what I can smell, to the overgrown areas which had once been grassy, and then to the cracked and crumbling tarmac of the drive and car park. The pavements are over grown, with weeds pushing up between wonky and damaged paving slabs, and I suspect the Redeemers care for their stock as dutifully as they care for the facility.

To humans I’m a nightmare monster and yet even I wouldn’t want to be walking around the farm on my own. The night-time dark is almost complete here, as all the external lights have long since become useless, and that doesn’t help my sense of foreboding. It’s not like my vampire eyes need the extra light but sometimes even I like the comfort of a warm glow to chase away the darkest shadows. It’s creepy here and not just because my super-sensitive ears can already hear the screams coming from inside the building.

No matter what horror films the people inside the prison had watched during their lives, nothing could have prepared them for what they must now be enduring. The very thought horrifies and disgusts me. They’d been completely unprepared for our world, never mind the world of the Senate and the Redeemers. I’d been married to a vampire and I still hadn’t been prepared for this world, what hope did the average human have?

After parking up in the first bay we come to, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves before getting out of the vehicle. There’s no backing out of this now, so I may as well remain calm. It’s not a simple task though, especially with Tul here.

For authenticity we take surveying equipment from the vans; measuring tapes, laser measuring devices, the floor plans and pens. Of course, there’s also a wealth of other tools in our bags, including C4 and remote detonators. The Alliance is still a highly militarised organisation after all, as Johan continues to show me. It’s hard to believe that I’d ever thought they were a simple criminal gang.

Once we’re loaded up with our equipment we make our way towards the foreboding red brick building. The windows have all been bricked up or are barred over and as a human there would be no hope of escape. As one of the Strix? Well, I can pray. 
We have to show our fake cards to two more guards stationed on the door and I’m grateful they don’t recognise me as I hide under the baseball cap which is part of my ‘uniform’. It’s branded with the Redeemers’ ‘R’, just like my black t-shirt and cargo trousers, just like my throat. For the first time I’m pleased my hair has been burned away. I don’t look like me; I don’t look like the primped and primed courtesan Van had created. Perhaps that’s why the guards don’t instantly call for back up.

Inside the main entrance we have to sign in, remembering to use the names on our fake identity cards. I’m currently Rosamund Edith Greystoke and I was born in 1895, or so Johan had told me when he assigned our aliases. It’s just one more persona for me to adopt and shed. How many names have I used now? How many people have I been? It’s a wonder I remember who I am at all.

“There are guards posted on the doors between wings, they’ll let you into any areas you need to be in. The livestock are unlikely to attack you but if they do just break their necks and tell a member of staff, we’ll use their meat to feed the others.” The advice given by the woman on reception is heartless, and I’m pleased she doesn’t look up from her computer monitor as she speaks. I couldn’t bear to see the lack of empathy in her eyes.

Her insensitivity makes me nauseous. I know I feed off humans but I don’t kill them, and I certainly wouldn’t feed dead mortals to other mortals. These people, the vampires running these so-called farms, are truly repugnant and their attitudes are stomach-turning. Yet the receptionist’s unrepentant and savage stance on the worthlessness of humanity is shared by all Redeemers. It’s part of their code and I despise them for it.

The woman doesn’t notice my revulsion as she continues, “The only ones you mustn’t kill are in D wing. They’re favourites with the rich, famous and politically ruthless. There’s even one of Charleston’s favourites here, a little brunette with an unfortunate resemblance to the whore. He had her back messed up and to match the traitor Chief’s Mina.”

Tul and Rob grab my elbows, muttering a hurried thank you to the receptionist as they tug me away before I can mutilate her alive. “I’m fine,” I hiss, shaking them off as Craig and Alex follow us in grim silence.

“Of course you are, there’s just a lot of work to be done,” Rob answers. However, there’s an edge to his voice and anger seethes in his gut, leaving me wondering if he’d really been concerned about my control or if he’d been more worried about his own.

I distract myself from my fury by familiarising myself with our surroundings. It reeks of humanity in here, and not humanity’s best side either. The pungent aroma of disease permeates the air and I’m forced to hold my breath. I only prevent myself from retching by breathing as little as possible, so as not to taste the stench. How could we do this to people? How could the Redeemers be so inhumane? Had I really worried about losing my humanity? How much humanity do the people responsible for places like this still posses?

Already I know this ‘farm’ is a living hell and I haven’t even seen the ‘livestock’ yet. I dread doing so, but it can’t be avoided. I think that if I live long enough to see the Senate fall the memories of this place will haunt me forever. As if I don’t already have enough nightmares when I try to sleep.

Craig and Alex head to ‘survey’ blocks A and B together, while Rob, Tul and I find our way to C wing. The guards minding the steel doors are listening to radios as we approach, receiving instructions to give us access to all areas. One of them hands Rob a huge bunch of keys before they unlock the doors and let us into the first block of holding cells.

If anything the stench is even worse here, now we’re in amongst the imprisoned people. Some of them sit around in the atrium area, wrists and ankles chained. They wait to be taken to the homes or work places of the vampires who’ve ordered ‘take-out’ as Simon, the Redeemer I’d briefly lived with, had called his captive humans. Most of them are naked, emaciated, beaten and broken. Some have been kept in better condition, dressed up in costumes and without the dirt and grime that smears the skin of the majority. It would be easy to see the clean and clothed as lucky, their lives obviously supported by a rich sponsor who favours them. Honestly though, who knows what is required of them as payment for the food they’re given and the privilege of using the shower facilities? I’ve experienced what it’s like to be a rich politician’s toy and as far as I’m concerned not one of these people is ‘lucky’.

The atrium itself is poorly maintained. Any paint and plaster which once covered the brickwork walls has long since crumbled away, leaving the red bricks exposed. Even they are rough with age, the mortar between them crumbling and falling away, especially where cracks zigzag down the walls. The building should probably be condemned. The ancient lights are dull and flickering in their wire cages and I wouldn’t be surprised if the eyesight of the mortals kept here is suffering for their stay in this dim pit of despair.

After pulling out the surveying equipment, we make a detailed show of measuring this first space before we unlock the first of the holding cells. The steel doors are rusty, the orangey-red patches of oxidised metal flaking and rough as I pull the creaking door open. It’s a struggle not to vomit as we enter, and I gag as a wave of stale and revoltingly pungent air escapes the cell.

People have been squeezed into the dungeon so tightly they sit wall to wall, with barely room enough to perch side by side with their knees drawn up to their chests. Most have injuries, wounds from punishments or suicide attempts and none of the gashes and lesions have been cleaned or dressed. Many of the wounds are visibly infected, oozing stinking puss as the untreated injuries slowly poison the people the Redeemers claim to be ‘farming’.

This isn’t a farm; this is a punishment facility. This is where the Redeemers punish mortals for the crime of being human.

Most of the cell’s occupants stare blindly into space, their eyes dull and hopeless. A few turn to us with fear, terror so poignant it overrules any other emotion. Only one or two glare with open hatred and I wonder if they’re among the more recent acquisitions, those not yet resigned to their horrific fate.

Three corpses lie in the corner closest to the door, waiting for collection. From their bloated state and the smell I’d say those people have been dead far too long already, but even as I stand in an aghast stupor a man and woman lift another lifeless body from the midst of the crowd. The prisoners pass the deceased man to one another until he too is laid on the pile of decomposing flesh.

His arm falls sideways as he’s deposited beside me, his bluing hand falling against my leg. Pain from the infection which had killed him ripples through my body. The heat from the excessively raised temperature which had sent him delusional warms my vampire cool skin and my suddenly jelly-like knees give way.

Tul grabs me, wrapping his arm around my waist to support me. “Love?” he requests, worried.

Thankfully the wave of sickness ends when Rob shifts the body so it’s no longer in contact with me. Swallowing down bile and this morning’s blood ration I force myself to regain my composure. “I’m ok,” I breathe softly, despite feeling anything other than alright. “Let’s just get this done.”

After dropping his bag and glancing briefly around to make sure no guards are looking, Rob takes out a small amount of C4 and the watch-battery sized remote-controlled devices which will detonate the explosive. Apparently some military contact of Johan’s has been developing a whole range of weapons to be used against the Senate. According to our leader his contact is ecstatically happy that we’ve finally been forced to go on the offensive. Johan’s acquaintance would probably scare me if he wasn’t right; I agree with him that we should be on the offensive. And we need people who can support such action.

Rob attaches the explosives to the lock and hinges of the door while Tul and I make show of taking down the cells dimensions. This is a dangerous game we’re playing and there’s nothing to say the C4 won’t injure some of the humans when it goes off. That’s a risk we’re going to have to take if we want to make any impact on this facility. At least the mortals seem to be keeping away from the door, away from the easy reach of their gaolers. The explosions might not injure anyone, at least no worse than they’ve already been wounded.

I’d love to just free the mortals. It would be nice to simply open the doors. It would also be reckless for us to just let the humans out. We are few and they are many, they aren’t going to be overly fond of vampires, any vampires and they could respond to us much the same as the vigilante gang had reacted to Rob and I. We may be trying to help them but that doesn’t mean they won’t try to kill us given the chance. If we succeed in freeing these people, we have no intention of being around when they swarm out of their cells.

“Done,” Rob murmurs and we step back into the atrium, re-locking the door behind us.

Repeating the process on all of the cells is a long and arduous task. Every single cell is as over-crowded and hell-like as the first had been, so filled with hopeless despair that it’s a struggle to blink back the red tears which threaten to fill my eyes. At least D wing is a significant improvement, environmentally. It’s less crowded and its occupants are cleaner and better fed. From their appearances they may even get basic medical care, though whether it comes in the form of a doctor or a mouthful of vampire blood it’s hard to tell.

It’s only when we step into the second to last cell that we find her, the girl I hadn’t wanted to see. The others in her cell sit together, whispering to themselves, but she sits apart. Her back is to her cell-mates as she curls up in the corner, alone, desolate, tortured, giving me a perfect view of the wounds Hardy had inflicted upon her.

There aren’t as many scars on her back as there are on mine, but Hardy had caused enough damage for his intentions to be brutally clear. The girl’s hair is as long as mine had been before the fire and styled similarly, and when she turns towards us I note that her eyes are dark too. She uncurls herself, climbing to her feet and revealing the bruises littering her torso. The marks will have been left by Charleston’s hands, I know it, and I can remember him doing the same to me on many nights. I’d chosen it, but she hadn’t, she didn’t deserve to pay the price of my mistakes.

The woman frowns as she tilts her head and stares as me in slow comprehension. “I know your face,” she whispers, “you’re the reason he calls me Eve, the reason he calls me whore.” Anger flickers in her eyes, fury and sorrow, humiliation and grief. “You’re the reason he mutilated me.”

She stumbles towards me, accusation clear in her expression and enough defiance to ensure my admiration as well as my pity. “Why?” She demands, her voice soft, not yet betraying the rage I can smell pouring from her. “Why?” She repeats.

“Set the charges,” I tell Rob without turning from her. What can I say to her? How can I hope to ease her pain?

The naked girl, this mortal, whom Hardy has tried to turn into me, frowns again at my words. “Charges?” she recites. “You’re here to free us?”

Biting my lip nervously I admit, “We’re here to disrupt this operation and free you if we can...”

“Eve, don’t,” Tul reprimands me. We’d agreed not to tell the prisoners what we were doing. It’s too big a risk. We can’t be sure one of them won’t try to gain favour with a guard by calling for help and revealing us. They may believe escape is impossible and they’re unlikely to trust us. We are still creatures of nightmare, after all.

I ignore him as I stare at the other woman, the woman who’d been forced to suffer my pain, my shame. “Not all vampires are like those who oppress you. We aren’t enough to guarantee your escape but we’ll open the doors and take out as many guards as possible. After that it’s up to you to run, to hide, to get away.”

“We could be killed if we try to escape,” one of the others responds, as they give me their undivided attention.

“What do you think is going to happen to you here?” I ask, frowning at the cell’s occupants. “What? You think because you are the current favourites that you’ll be kept alive indefinitely?

Let me tell you about the people holding you prisoner. They have no capacity for mercy. They have no sympathy for you. You aren’t pets to them, not like cats and dogs and other animals you might feel affection for. You are livestock, pigs and cows and chickens. You will be fed and watered and cared for only as long as they can make money from doing so. After that you will be slaughtered or left to die.

You’re all aging. You aren’t like us. Sooner or later your fickle sponsors are going to move on to a new toy, as easily as you used to switch mobile phones. Or you’ll do something to anger them and you’ll end up just one more body piled in the corner of one of the cells in C block. Maybe you’ll be chopped up, cooked and fed to your fellow prisoners.” The words alone taste foul but it’s a truth they need to hear. “You each have a choice; you can try to take what chances of freedom you’re offered or you can stay here and rot.”

“What do you know about it?” the man demands. “Vampire,” he spits the word as if it were a curse, “what do you know about our choices, about what it is to have your family murdered, your freedom taken, to be tortured for your blood? Can you even remember what it is to be human? How long is it since you lost your soul?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t need to answer as Charleston’s favourite intercedes. “She knows as much about it as you do, Chris.” Seeing my puzzled expression she expands, “He wanted me to study you’re character, he wanted me to cry for the husband you lost,” her gaze flicks briefly to Rob then back to me, “rather than the one who died defending me and our son. I’ve seen the tapes of his execution and of your internment.” Her eyes go to Rob again with a far greater degree of confused condemnation.

She knows a lot. Charleston had demanded a lot of her. Does his sadistic cruelty know no limits? I shudder at the thought of that man forcing some woman to sit through Rob’s execution, through my torture, purely so she could try to be me. His obsession with me has gone so much further than his desire to control my blood. It’s a worrying realisation. If he does ever capture me again, even if he no longer needs my blood, will he kill or keep me?

“That’s complicated,” I admit and she nods. Turning back towards the man she’d called Chris I admit, “I don’t think souls or lack thereof has very much to do with anything. However, to answer your question, I’ve been a vampire for just over a year. The years preceding that were... difficult. They killed my family too, my human family. I’m not one of your oppressors.”

“Do you drink human blood?” The man requests, scowling at me as if that confession will be reason enough to condemn me.

“I’m a vampire,” my answer is simple and it is the expected confession, “and I’m not prepared to starve. If you live long enough, sooner or later you’ll have to come to terms with the fact vampire and murderer are two very different things. That’s the truth of the world we’re trying to preserve.”

“Done,” Rob tells me, as he places the last explosive on the door.

Chris glares at me, “Humans won’t ever be willing to be fed from. You’ll always have to force us.”

I laugh at that, his assertion shows how little he knows of how we’ve always lived. “Some mortals have been willingly seeking out vampires and offering up their veins for as long as both races have existed,” I tell him, although I can see disbelief written on his face. “I fed my husband long before I married him or became a vampire.” Chris scowls at that admission, thoroughly disgusted by the concept which I had come to see as perfectly natural.

“Keep away from the door,” I tell the prisoners as I follow Rob and Tul from the cell, praying they’ll listen to me and hold their tongues about our intentions.

The scarred girl calls to me as I’m about to close the door, her tone acerbic. “I hate you, for existing, for looking vaguely like me, for causing this.” She indicates to herself.

“Yeah,” my answer is soft, guilt ridden, “I know. And while I know it won’t help, I am truly sorry.”

We place the C4 in the last cell without incident before joining Alex and Craig in the central area again. “Alex, sign out, plant a charge in reception and get the perimeter gate open,” Tul orders. “We’ll see to the guards and open the cell block doors. Ok?”

We split up and I hate it, even though the division will only last long enough to carry out our tasks. Heading for C block has me nervous as Rob, Tul and Craig make their way to D, B and A wing respectively. My heart thunders in my chest as I take the heads of the two men guarding my block, not fearing for my safety but terrified for Tul. My pulse only slows again once he returns to our meeting point unharmed. He rolls his eyes at me, clearly unimpressed with my concern and subsequent relief, but wisely he makes no comment.

The alarms clang, suddenly and deafeningly roaring into life and I presume the woman on reception has checked the CCTV monitors and seen the dead guards. “Time to blow things up, I think.”

Rob grins as he pulls the remote detonator out of his pocket. Boys and toys, honestly. Pressing the button is all it takes before the building shakes with the combined force of numerous explosions. I wince against the sound beating at my hyper-sensitive ears. The loudest explosion comes from reception and I have no doubt the loathsome woman who’d greeted us is now incapacitated. Excellent.

When did I start to enjoy the demise of other people? Even if they are my enemies, it’s a disconcerting realisation to acknowledge a sense of satisfaction which can only be found in obliterating a life. I don’t want to dwell on what it says about me so instead I focus on the new sounds behind us. From the cell blocks I hear the humans shouting in surprise, yelling at each other as they creep nervously out of their cells and then start running towards the cell block doors.

“Let’s go and make sure Alex got the gate open,” Craig prompts, “before the escaping hordes mistake us for the enemy.” Having seen the way the Chris person had looked at me, I agree fully with that plan.

Thankfully Alex had seen fit to decapitate the guards at the main doors on his way out and so we leave without facing any resistance. Craig jogs to Alex’s van which is waiting in the open gateway while Rob, Tul and I retrieve our own vehicle.

Glancing in the wing mirror as we follow the other van through the gates I can see mortals streaming through the main doors of the compound, fleeing their prison and charging after us. We’ve pulled it off, we’ve freed people. Of course the Senate will increase security now, but for once we’ve managed to deal them a blow. I should be elated but as I look back I notice one human pause at the front door. She bends down next to the fallen Redeemer guard and picks up his gun. Watching her stare at the weapon in her hand I feel cold claws of dread climb my back.

“Turn around,” I whisper urgently, “Rob, turn around.”

Rob glances in a mirror too, seeing what I see and realising what I have predicted. He shakes his head though, despite my anxiety and my commands. “We can’t. There’s too many of them and we don’t know how they’ll react to us.”

I long to fight, to rant and scream. Instead I ball my fists, whispering, “Don’t,” as Charleston’s replacement for me lifts the gun, pressing it’s nozzle to her temple. “Please, don’t,” I repeat.

Of course she can’t hear me and having lost as much as she has I’m not at all surprised by her actions. Still, the sound of the gunshot tears at my soul. Blood and brain splatters on the brickwork wall of the prison and the woman drops to her knees and then face first onto the pavement. Tulloch takes my hand, squeezing it, but it doesn’t help ease my grief and guilt. Will the death ever end? Will we ever be truly victorious?