The Cross

The voyage seemed to have gone on forever. After the incessant, monotonous rumbling of the ship’s diesels and the echoing boom of its motion through the sea finally died away, Joel hesitated a while in the half-empty freight container deep in the bowels of the hold where he’d found a place to stow away. The faint glow of his watch dial, radiating the stored energy of the only sunlight he could bear to be exposed to, told him that it was after one in the morning. He held back another half hour, then, frightened that the ship might sud denly set off again and carry him off to some unknown destination, he crept out of the hold and made his way undetected to deck level.

In the middle of the night the Port of Southampton was a blaze of frenetic industry. Dock workers swarmed this way and that like ants under the glare of the lights that streaked across the water, while giant cranes reared high overhead like dinosaurs, carrying out the endless cycle of loading and unloading cargo onto the decks of the hulking ships moored against the harbour walls. Joel was able to sneak away through the vast facility without anyone challenging him. By the time he’d made it out to the streets of Southampton his energy was all but sapped and he had to stop frequently to lean against a wall. He was already fearfully counting the hours until sunrise. This awful nightly race against the clock was going to be the centre of his whole existence now, for the rest of eternity. Would there never be a way out for him?

Passing the pitted brickwork mouth of an alleyway that was cluttered with old metal bins and crates of empty bottles, he heard the dull thump-thump-thump of a nightclub in full swing and moved on hurriedly to avoid any chance of getting caught up in a crowd. Some drunks loitering about in the street ignored him as he went by.

A few yards further on, Joel heard something that made him stop in his tracks. Even as he whipped around at the sound of the woman’s cry of distress, he was falling instinctively back on his police inspector’s training. His eyes darted across to the nightclub doorway and picked out the figures of a burly man in a leather jacket and a woman who was staggering away from him. As Joel watched, the big guy pursued her aggressively across the street, slurring loudly, ‘I’ll smack your teeth out, you fucking bitch!’

There were no club bouncers anywhere to be seen, nobody except the drunks Joel had passed by, who were all propped against the wall or slouched on the pavement, smoking and grinning inanely and obviously disinclined to intervene in the situation. The woman couldn’t run properly in her high heels, and in just a few steps the man caught up with her, grabbed her arm and slapped her hard across the face. She screamed and lost her footing, her legs kicking out, one shoe tumbling into the gutter.

Still clutching her arm, the big guy started dragging her roughly towards the dark entrance to the alleyway. She screamed again as he swung his arm around and hurled her crashing into the row of bins. A stack of crates collapsed and empty bottles rolled across the alley floor as the woman struggled to get to her feet.

The big guy swayed up to her and started undoing his belt and fumbling for his flies. He was so focused on his wriggling victim and on what he was about to do that not even a noisy human coming up behind him would have drawn his attention.

Joel tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Up close, the guy was as broad as a bear and a good three inches taller than him. The big man turned round and snarled at Joel. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Police,’ Joel said, and for just an instant it was like stepping back into the lost world of his past. But the illusion didn’t last long. He reached out an arm and grabbed a fistful of the guy’s lank brown hair.

Even in Joel’s state of extreme hunger and weakness, fifteen stone of muscle and lard felt like no weight at all as he lifted him clear off his feet with one hand. The guy kicked and thrashed in mid-air, yelled in pain and rage and clapped his hands to his head, trying to prise Joel’s fingers away. Joel drew back his fist and punched him in the midriff. He went flying as if he’d caught a cannonball in the stomach. The impact against the alley wall drove a grunt of air from his lungs. He bounced, hit the ground hard and lay still.

The woman staggered to her feet. Scrabbling for her lost shoe, she stared up at Joel with big, frightened eyes. ‘You’re not the cops,’ she said uncertainly. ‘No way.’

‘Are you all right, miss?’ Joel asked her, and she nodded. He tossed away the big fistful of hair that had come away from the guy’s scalp, roots and all, and pointed down at the slumped heap on the ground. ‘Who is he?’

‘Dunno. Just some guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

‘Okay. You’d better get out of here,’ Joel said.

She hesitated a second, then stepped into her shoe. ‘You take care, now,’ Joel called after her as she scurried away up the street, leaving him alone with her attacker. The guy was slowly coming round now, groaning and trying to gather himself up. Joel grabbed the collar of his jacket and dragged him a little deeper into the shadowy alley. He glanced back at the street. The drunks were out of sight. Nobody was around.

This is it, he thought. You have to do this. You won’t survive otherwise. He could feel the teeth grown long and sharp behind his lips, just as they had before. Except it wasn’t like before. This time, it felt right. This time, he was going in for the bite. The dark instinct that was surging up from some unknown place deep inside him commanded him to surrender, and it was a force he couldn’t deny any longer. Joel yanked the guy’s collar down, exposing a few inches of thick neck. The scent of human blood made him quiver with anticipation.

Joel opened his mouth and felt his upper lip roll back from the long vampire fangs. The big guy’s eyes opened wide in terror as the sight jolted him fully awake. He let out a strangled whimper and tried to crawl away. Joel held him tight.

But then he looked into the liquid, pleading, pitiful eyes of the helpless human, and he stopped.

No. He couldn’t bring himself to do such a thing.

Joel let the man go. He sat heavily on the ground as he watched the human scramble desperately to his feet and stagger blindly away up the alley.

The guy didn’t get very far before a shape lunged out of the shadows and caught him with a hard, fast blow to the neck that knocked him cold.

The shape stepped over the unconscious body and clumped towards Joel in heavy boots that echoed in the alley.

‘Who are you?’ Joel called out. It was the shape of a man — but Joel already knew he was no man. As the figure came closer, Joel could see him more clearly. He was short, stockily built and, to judge from the grizzled beard that hung halfway down his chest, he looked about sixty in human years. A long Viking-like grey plait of hair was draped down one shoulder of the chunky Aran sweater he was wearing.

As Joel stared, the figure spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. ‘That wasnae such a clever idea, laddie.’

‘Who are you?’ Joel said again.

‘Once you’ve hooked your wee fish, you dinnae let him go. Not until you’ve done the necessary.’

Joel blinked. ‘I … I couldn’t—’

‘No room for pity, laddie. Pity won’t get you very far. Something tells me ye’re a bit new to this vampire lark, aye?’ The thick grey beard broke into a grin. ‘The name’s Tommy. Tommy McGregor. Luckily for you, I’ve been around a while longer. Now let’s get this thing done properly and get oot of here before someone comes.’

Speechless, Joel watched Tommy one-handedly drag the unconscious body of the human across the alley and prop it up against the wall. ‘Big bugger, this one,’ the grizzled vampire muttered. ‘Like a damn sack o’ spuds.’

Joel turned his face away and closed his eyes as Tommy lunged towards the human’s throat. The sounds of sucking and slurping made him feel queasy. When Tommy finally pulled away, letting out a loud belch and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Joel risked a glance and saw that his beard was slick and dripping with blood.

‘Dear me. Looks like I’ve landed on a real newbie, all right,’ Tommy said, grinning at his expression. ‘So where’d you spring up from, eh?’

‘I … I just came off a ship,’ Joel stammered. ‘I don’t know exactly where from.’

Tommy clicked his tongue. ‘We really are a wee bit confused, aren’t we? Have you got a name, or do you not remember that either?’

‘My name’s Joel.’

‘Well, Joel, if ye dinnae mind my telling you, you’ve got a bit of learning to do.’ Tommy reached into a pouch on his belt, and with a flourish he produced a syringe. He used his teeth to pluck away the cork on the end of the needle, then stabbed it to the hilt into the bloody neck of his still-unconscious victim and pushed the plunger all the way home.

‘There we go,’ he grunted with satisfaction as he yanked the needle out and stuck the cork back on. ‘When yer man wakes up in the morning, sick as a dog wi’ a few bruises and these wee holes in his neck, he’ll just think he was too pissed to stand up straight and had an argument wi’ something sharp. See how it’s done? In the old times,