17. SpecOps 17: Suckers & Biters
‘… I made the assistance calls as a matter of course; had done since Chesney was pulled to the shadows. Never expected anyone to come; was just my way of saying “Ho, guys! I’m still out here!” Nope, never expected it. Never expected it at all…”
‘Where are you, Spike?’
There was a pause and then: ‘Thursday, think hard before you do this—‘
‘I have, Spike. Give me your location.’
He told me and after a quarter of an hour I pulled up outside the senior school at Haydon.
‘I’m here, Spike. What do you need?’
His voice came back on the wireless, but this time slightly strained.
‘Lecture Room four, and hurry; in the glove box of my black & white you’ll find a medical kit—‘
There was a yell and he stopped transmitting.
I ran across to where Spike’s squad car stood in the dark entrance of the old college. The moon passed behind a cloud and blackness descended; I felt an oppressive hand fall across my heart. I opened the car door and rummaged in the glove box. I found what I was looking for: a small zippered leather case with ‘Stoker’ embossed on the front in faded gold lettering. I grabbed it and ran up the front steps of the old school. The interior was gloomily lit by emergency lighting; I flicked a panel of switches but the power was out. In the meagre light I found a signboard and followed the arrows towards Lecture Room Four. As I ran down the corridor I was aware of a strong odour; it matched the sullen smell of death I had detected in the boot of Spike’s car when we had first met. I stopped suddenly, the nape of my neck twitching as a gust of cold wind caught me. I turned around abruptly and froze as I noticed the figure of a man silhouetted against the dim glow of an exit light.
‘Spike?’ I murmured, my throat dry and my voice cracking.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the figure, walking softly towards me and playing a torch on my face. ‘It’s Frampton; I’m the janitor. What are you doing here?’
‘Thursday Next, SpecOps. There’s an officer in need of assistance in Lecture Room four.’
‘Really?’ said the janitor. ‘Probably followed some kids in. Well, you’d better come with me.’
I looked at him carefully; a glint from one of the exit lights caught the metallic gold of a crucifix around his throat. I breathed a sigh of relief.
He walked swiftly down the corridor; I followed closely.
‘This place is so old it’s embarrassing,’ muttered Frampton, leading me down a second corridor off the first. ‘Who did you say you were looking for?’
‘An officer named Stoker.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He looks for vampires.’
‘Really? Last infestation we had was in ‘78. Student by the name of Parkes. Went backpacking in the Forest of Dean and came back a changed man.’
‘Backpacking in the Forest of Dean?’ I repeated incredulously, ‘Whatever possessed him to do that?’
The janitor laughed. ‘Good choice of words. Symonds Yat wasn’t as secure then as it is now; we’ve taken precautions too. The whole college was consecrated as a church.’
He flashed his torch at a large crucifix on the wall.
‘We won’t have
He pushed open the door and we entered the large room. Frampton’s torch flicked across the oak- panelled walls but a quick search revealed nothing of Spike.
‘Are you sure he said number four?’
‘Certain,’ I replied. ‘He—‘
There was a sound of breaking glass and a muffled curse a small way distant.
‘What was that?’
‘Probably rats,’ said Frampton.
‘And the swearing?’
But I had moved off to a doorway beyond the lecture room, taking Frampton’s torch with me. I pushed the door open wide and an appalling stench of formaldehyde greeted me. The room was an anatomy lab, dark except for the moonlight coming in through the window. Against the wall were rack upon rack of pickled specimens: mostly animal parts, but a few human parts too, things for the boys to frighten the girls with during sixth-form biology lessons. There was the sound of a jar smashing, and I flicked the torch across to the other side of the room. My heart froze. Spike, his self-control having apparently abandoned him, had just thrown a specimen jar to the floor and was now scrabbling in the mess. Around his feet were the smashed remnants of many jars; it had obviously been quite a feast.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, the revulsion rising in my throat.
Spike turned to me, his eyes gaping, his mouth cut from the glass, a look of horror and fear in his eyes.
‘I was hungry!’ he howled. ‘And I couldn’t find any mice—!’
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathered his thoughts with a Herculean effort, then stammered:
‘My medication—!’
I forced down a foul gagging sensation and opened the medical kit to reveal a Biro-like syringe. I undipped the pen and moved towards Spike, who had collapsed in a heap and was sobbing silently. There was a hand on my shoulder, and I whirled round. It was Frampton, and he had an unpleasant smile on his lips.
‘Let him carry on. He’s happier this way, believe me.’
I pushed his hand off my shoulder and for an instant my flesh touched his. It was icy cold and I felt a shiver ran through me. I backed away hastily and tripped over a stool, falling heavily and dropping Spike’s injector. I drew my gun and pointed it at Frampton, who seemed to be gliding towards me without walking. I didn’t shout a warning; I just pulled the trigger and a bright flash illuminated the lab. Frampton was catapulted across the floor towards the blackboard and fell in a heap. I scrabbled around for the injector, found it and ran towards Spike, who had picked up a particularly large jar with a very recognisable and unspeakably unpleasant specimen in it. I flashed the torch into his frightened eyes and he mumbled:
‘Help me!’
I pulled the cap off the injector and jabbed it in his leg, giving him two clicks. I took the jar from him and he sat down looking confused.
‘Spike? Say something.’
‘That
But it wasn’t Spike talking. It was Frampton. He had picked himself up from the floor and was tying what looked like a lobster bib around his neck.
‘Time for dinner, Miss Next. I won’t trouble you with the menu because… well,
The door of the biology lab slammed shut and I looked at my gun; it was now about as much use as a water pistol.
I got up and backed away from Frampton, who once more seemed to glide towards me. I fired again but Frampton was ready for it; he simply winced and continued.
‘But the crucifix—!’ I shouted, backing towards the wall. ‘And this college—it’s a church!’
‘Little fool!’ replied Frampton. ‘Do you really suppose that Christianity has a monopoly on people like
