Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 40

The deluge of rain had swept the country, laying waste to villages, flooding towns and plunging crop land underwater. Rivers burst banks and decimated houses, destroying years of accumulated precious belongings and sweeping away memories along with the floodwaters. Media news was saturated with stories of loss and destruction. Tears were shed and the death toll rose. But these were all human concerns now because for us, the rain was like a gift from the Heavens, great biblical floods sent to wash away our sins and allow us the freedom to advance on the compound. We weren't naive of course. There were too many of us to hide our scent completely but by the time they would realise just how close we were, it would be too late. And here we now were, countless cells of vampires making our way deep into enemy territory, the time was upon us and it seemed the weather at least was on our side.

The country lanes leading to the estate were treacherous, with huge low-lying sections under water and some completely impassable. Despite the permanently darkened skies, that were covered by a thick layer of ever-present storm clouds, this whole area screamed perfection and seemed a million miles away from the infected streets of Whitechapel. A network of villages surrounded the national park area and all were being dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. Convenience stores and post offices had been dusted away and replaced with shiny bright polished branded shops that were ten a penny in every other town. Local residents who had lived there all their lives were soon kicking up daisies in the church cemetery and in their place were the young affluent middle class families, London commuters and ladies who lunch and do little else.

Brandon and I had once talked about moving out of the city when we were old, retiring to one of these country villages, taking walks in the woods every day and wearing Hunter wellies and waxed coats. I remembered raising an eyebrow at the thought of the city boy taking Sunday afternoon hikes and learning to live the good life out in the countryside but I'd secretly coveted the fantasy, dreaming of a world away from the chaos of London.

Looking out the window of the car now, watching as we rolled through village after village, with Jubilee bunting plastered to the walls of chocolate box cottages and the rain hammering at the electric gates of the ridiculously priced mansions, I couldn't help but feel quite sick at the thought of it. It occurred to me that maybe Brandon had wanted to move us closer to the compound and I also wondered with a sense of horror how many of the Varúlfur lived out here. The stench of smug wealth pervaded the air and it wouldn't have surprised me if hidden amongst the village fetes and tea rooms, there was a Varúlfur or two lurking, pretending to be anything except the monsters they really were, sharing Women's Institute cake with the local vicar on weekdays and ripping the guts out of vampires on weekends.

I leaned my head against the cool glass and stared morosely at the rivers of rainwater that had invaded the village streets, claiming right to the ground where people would usually walk and would now have to wade ankle deep. I was in Garrick's car, with Garrick himself and Blaine and Sergio. Harper had gone with Page and Kale in a black-out transit van, together with Benjamin's old war buddy, Edward and his cell of vampires.

We had hardly spoken since my little Jenny revelation and at times it seemed as if Harper could barely look at me and when he did, his face twisted instinctively into a grimace as if he smelt something rotten. And maybe he did. Maybe I still carried the stench of my husband, some small sense of Varúlfur that served as a constant reminder to Harper of what Brandon had done. Still, I'm not sure he needed any kind of odour to remind him. I had no doubt those images were emblazoned across his brain, driven deep into every fibre by the constant hammer of pain every time he thought about it. After all, they were still deeply engrained in my head and what was she to me? Nothing but a ghost. An unmovable stubborn ghost who refused to go away and who continued to haunt me as she wrapped her thin pale arms around Harper and bound him in his vengeance.