a low, rattling sound that he suddenly recognised.
Eric Bingham was growling.
“What the hell?” asked Ellison.
Jamie opened his mouth to answer her, but then the yellow and orange ball moved, bursting out of the corner and rushing down towards them.
“I see you!” screamed Bingham as he hurtled through the air, the heat from his body blinding them. Jamie recoiled, fumbling for the dial on his belt, shouting for his squad to open fire.
“Jesus,” yelled Ellison, and fired her T-Bone. The projectile rocketed past the onrushing vampire and hit the wall with a metallic crunch. Morton did nothing; Jamie could hear his panting breath over their comms link and knew he had frozen.
Jamie yanked the barrel of his T-Bone round to where the vampire should have been and pulled the trigger. The metal stake burst from the barrel, but disappeared away into the darkness. Jamie swore, reached up and shoved his visor out of the way. The darkness of the warehouse pressed in on him, and his vision filled with expanding dots of grey and black. With a loud whir and a heavy thud, the metal stake flew back into the barrel of his T-Bone and locked into place.
“Where is he?” yelled Ellison. “I’ve lost him.”
“Regroup,” shouted Jamie, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to clear them. “On me, now.”
The ghostly faces of his squad mates seemed to materialise as they pushed their own visors clear. They arrived beside him, their eyes wide, their skin pale.
“Where is he?” repeated Ellison, her voice low. “I can’t see him.”
“Quiet,” whispered Jamie. “Both of you.” He flicked his visor down and swore again; the blazing heat that had been emanating from Bingham had blown out his helmet’s sensors. His visor was clearing, but slowly, ever so slowly; he shoved it back out of the way and drew his torch from its loop on his belt. A wide beam of white light burst from the LED; he swept it quickly across the wide dark space of the warehouse.
Nothing moved.
Ellison and Morton turned on their torches and two more beams appeared; they swooped and crossed, illuminating small circles of the huge room. Jamie could hear both his squad mates, the fear in their breathing, the rapid in and out.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Take it easy.”
“Is he still here?” asked Morton. He swung his torch as he spoke, aiming it into the distant corners.
“I don’t know,” hissed Jamie. “I can’t see any better than you can.” He flicked down his visor, desperate for it to be clear, then pushed it back up. His torch picked out a flash of something that skittered away from the beam, a long pink tail trailing behind it. He circled slowly, trying to keep his torch steady, trying not to let his hand shake.
“What do we do?” whispered Ellison. “Sir? What do we—”
Jamie felt the air shift behind him, a millisecond before Eric Bingham thundered through the middle of his squad, sending the three of them crashing to the ground; he hit the concrete hard and saw the vampire disappear away into the darkness. He leapt back to his feet, ignoring the pain that was shooting through his shoulders, and shone his torch in the direction Bingham had flown, heart pounding in his chest, blood roaring in his head. He saw something move, tried to follow it with his beam of light, but lost it.
Ellison and Morton climbed to their feet and closed in around him.
“We’re sitting ducks,” hissed Morton. “He can see us, but we can’t see him. We need to pull back.”
“Calm down, Operator,” said Jamie. “Just find the target.”
“We need to pull back,” repeated Morton, his voice low and unsteady.
“You heard him, John,” said Ellison. “Let’s do our job.”
“I see you!” screamed Eric Bingham. His voice echoed round the warehouse, seeming to come from everywhere at once. “I see you very well!”
Jamie tried to ignore the adrenaline that was pulsing through him, to push away the terrible screeching voice of the vampire and focus on the task at hand. He took a long step in the direction he had seen Bingham disappear, controlling his breathing, letting the darkness flow over him, willing it to reveal its contents.
“We need to pull back,” said Morton again, but Jamie ignored him. He was waiting for the telltale shift in the air that meant the vampire was moving. He pulled the MP5 from his belt, pressed his torch against its barrel and stopped, listening to the silent warehouse, feeling the air on the skin of his face.
Movement.
Behind him.
Jamie spun on the balls of his feet, raising the MP5 and pulling its trigger as he turned. Fire licked from the barrel as deafening reports crashed through the enclosed space of the warehouse. His torch beam illuminated his squad mates as they threw themselves to the ground, then picked out something moving at head height, twisting and fluttering, trailing sprays of gleaming red blood behind it. He heard a guttural scream, then silence.
Morton was first to his feet, his eyes blazing, his torch beam blinding as he pointed it at Jamie’s face. “What the hell are you—”
Jamie reached out and knocked the torch aside. “Look,” he said, and shone his own light on to the warehouse floor, where splashes of crimson appeared in the beam. Jamie followed them towards a dark patch of the warehouse floor, the contents of which became horribly clear in the bright beam of the torch.
“Christ,” breathed Ellison.
Eric Bingham was lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood, staring up at them with wide, frightened eyes. He was middle-aged, probably nearer to fifty than forty, and looked remarkably small on the wide expanse of concrete. His chest was a ruin of bullet holes and his right arm lay shattered at his side.
“Please,” he said, the words sending blood cascading down his chin. “I don’t know. I told them. Please.”
Beams from Morton’s and Ellison’s torches joined Jamie’s own, illuminating the sorry sight before them.
“I missed,” said Ellison. “When he charged us. I missed my shot.”
“So did I,” said Jamie. “It happened fast. It nearly always does.”
“Jamie—” began Morton.
“Don’t worry about it,” interrupted Jamie. “It’s done. Ellison?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Finish it.”
“Yes, sir,” repeated Ellison. She stepped forward, drawing her stake.
Bingham watched her with uncomprehending eyes. “Please,” he repeated. “I told them. I promise. Please.”
Ellison paused for a moment, beyond the reach of his one functioning arm. Then she darted forward and planted the stake in the vampire’s chest. There was a loud crunching noise, before Eric Bingham exploded in an eruption of flying blood. Ellison leapt backwards, avoiding the worst of the mess, and placed the stake back in its loop on her belt.
*
“That was all wrong,” said Morton.
The three Operators were back in their van, strapped in and ready to move on. Jamie had ordered the driver to wait while he requested an Operational update from the Surveillance Division, hoping that one of their remaining targets might have been identified since they had departed from the Loop. The connection had been established and he was waiting for any new information to be transmitted to them.
“What was?” asked Jamie. He had been staring at the touch screen, but something in his squad mate’s voice made him turn his head.
“That,” replied Morton. His face was pale, almost grey, and his eyes were glassy. “The vampire.