BLOOD

The Last Vampire

WARNING:

This is a long chapter. Very long. Better get your sleeping bag and move the computer into the bathroom.

Disclaimer: BLOOD: The Last Vampire © Manga Entertainment & Production IG/ IG Plus

I'm doin' all the work for nuthin' bub.

Chapter 4

Improv

So quickly had the sky turned from royal purple into a swamp-like green, with noxious torn clouds hanging in the air. The city below had a burning white and red glow, trapped behind the wire fence that had been there so long the ivy had made it its home. High up in the sky a single red eye blinked as it shot down smoothly towards earth. Still it roared.

But that was last night.

Overhead the school was safe, a ceremonial band played jaunty tunes that bounced and greeted their ears, outside the entire highway was empty. Except for one little plane. It looked like an ant.

The dumpy man in the hat – the one like in The Cat in the Hat – led all the kids in costume safely across the runway. Most of them just had on ling smocks while others had wigs.

More and more of them gathered, greeting their mummies and daddies; that little boy cleverly made his baseball cap into a mask, one girl came dressed as a fairy, the other as a knight, one very small boy dressed as some kind of animal, waving so everyone could see the star on his chest. One came as a pirate, at least two came as witches (looking very different of course) and the ghost held his pumpkin tightly.

Air traffic control directed the plane away from the children.

One of the photographers squatting between the children and their adoring parents let the young girl wave at him. The soldiers far away from them tied his shoes tightly as he prepared to board the back of the truck.

Still with his wand waving in circles the traffic controlled guided the black-nosed plane smoothly, one hand over his earmuff.

The young women waved happily at her daughter while her husband adjusted the lens. He managed to get one with the little black girl in the fairy costume smiling and giggling with the little white witch.

Grim Reapers and organisers swept through the halls, humans changed into witches and wizards in the locker rooms.

Inside the American soldiers in their green berets and uniforms quickly organised the concert hall, with the flag hanging down one wall. There was a grand piano, a drum kit, a cello case, dozens of stands and still so much stuff left to unpack.

Another which greeted pumpkin-head with a scythe, outside the concert hall was glowing gold while the crickets chirped.

Saya walked steadily towards the stairs in her uniform. With her presence the ravens cawed. The Jesters did not see her.

Mechanically she walked up the stairs inside, and the unease they felt as she walked by them on that first day seemed to have vanished, her essence eaten by the shadows in the corridor or replaced by them knowing she was stuck-up.

The bell rang.

That same fat teacher, the one with stubble on both his chins and a few short strands of ginger hair growing from his scalp like the weed in the pavement, looked at his watch. Ten to five.

"Come on, the band's going to start any minute now."

The short-haired girl and Linda walked up to his desk as he tapped this notes.

"Sir?" She asked with her squeaky voice.

"What is it Sharon? Aren't you going to put on your costumes, what's the matter?"

Sharon's eyes appeared darker today. That purple sky. "Linda told me that she's not feeling very well," Linda blinked. "It might be her anaemia again."

Saya heard that just as she was about to walk into the classroom. She stopped and pressed her back against the wall, listening with a keen ear.

"I thought I'd go with her to the infirmary."

Saya arched her neck so she could hear better.

"Again? Well OK. You don't need me do you?"

"No sir."

"Well, why don't you join us when you feel better? You girls be careful now."

"OK."

She was gone before they came out of the room.

Sharon's skirt was almost up to her bottom, Linda's down past her knees. Sharon walks briskly while she trails behind. Sharon was the talker.

She looked at her with cat's eyes.

"Are you OK?"

Linda never says anything.

"It won't be too long." She whispered.

The band was tuning up. Even their practice sounds cheerful, mostly the wind instruments.

One of the tall nerdy-looking men in glasses had managed to score with a lady from the east, but Pumpkinhead's mask was no where as good as the zombie's.

They gathered in the concert hall. The conduct stood on the stage as the crowd's voice silenced.

They even lit a pumpkin in the sickbay, lighting the match in one stroke. The nurse admired the face that didn't mind having a candle in it's head as she waved the extra long lighter out

She turned it around so it was facing Linda.

"I'd like to take it easy once and a while, especially on a day like this."

Her voice was soft and reassuring. She walked over to the medicine cabinet. Linda lay there listlessly, eyes half closed. She said nothing.

Sharon was sitting quietly on the chair to one side.

"This isn't a very fun way to spend Halloween now is it?"

Sharon didn't answer.

She looked at first, slightly bemused, then smiled.

"Don't worry, it's only minor anaemia." She rummaged through the bottles. "She should feel better any minute." The door slid open with a small thud. "You should really try not to worry too much –"

Without pulling or pushing herself up Linda rose in one swift movement, like those raised from the dead.

"– And just enjoy the festivity."

The nurse examined the bottle and looked for a different one. "What are you girls gonna dress up as?"

Linda's moved her lips but no sound came out.

"Witches?"

Sharon's lips moved but no sound came out.

"Vampires, maybe?"

The nurse didn't seem to notice.

"A-ha, here it is."

Now she noticed.

"Hm? Sharon, what is it? What's happening?"

Linda rose up on the bed as if standing on her knees. There was no noise save for the muffled sound of the blanket as it slid down Linda's legs –

The door burst open. So loud the nurse flinched and Sharon stood to attention. It was that girl who was creeping around last night, that sulky girl, who wouldn't even say Hello.

She switched flawlessly to Japanese. "You . . ."

Her hand strayed to her holster.

They could almost hear the conductor's voice:

An' a -one –

Two –

Three –

Four!

The music was blaring, wonderful dancing music from shining gold-plated instruments delicately engraved with seals; they played joyfully, pouring their hearts through their lips and down their saxophones. They heard it reverberate round the concert hall, swirl down the corridors, dance through the doors and even into the infirmary where Saya ran towards the girl in bed as her braids waved behind her, Sharon backed off in a single step and the nurse hadn't prepared herself for all to come.

The last look on Linda's face was one of unexpected surprise.

Her sword scraped as she pulled it out of the case, Saya's shirt riding up as he held it aloft with both hands, shoes tapping, and with a snarl on her face brought it slicing through Linda's shoulder all the down through her belly.

Linda flopped like a fish as hot blood leapt and squished onto the screen. Saya's back arched with the effort.

Martha's own screams drowned out and squishy noises the young girl's body might have produced.

Roughly – the sword sank deep – Saya wriggled out the sword that should have cut her clean in half; it came out with a sickening jerk hard enough to knock the pumpkin off the table. It rolled and landed on it stem; Sharon looked on edge but no cry came from her mouth. Martha's breath sobbed with fear.

The girl was waving her sword, pulling it back, aiming it –

The nurse realized with stabbing cries that she was going after her.

A piercing shriek rose behind her arm waiting to defend her, no effort to tackle, or hit, or somehow disable the girl with –

That horrible noise, that horrible irritating scraping noise. Saya hit her face hard enough to fall heavily against the wall, get her out the way; Sharon stood with nerve and a placid face that turned into a smirk. The glass smashed

Saya struck too slowly, that medicine cabinet, the one Sharon miscalculated as she threw it down in front of her attacker, knocking the end off her blade with a clang and sent it swirling through the air. Sharon, as she sent the closet crashing to the ground, had only her shoulder lacerated. She grimaced and staggered, collapsing against the wall as the blood spurted.

Music vanished only to be replaced by thuds of heartbeats and cold adrenaline. Sharon returned the snarl to her assailant.

Saya noticed the broken tip of her sword and prepare to lunge – Martha clasped her hands over her ears, screaming wildly, but not enough to cloud the bellowing.

The as-of-yet silent girl, who didn't ask who the girl was, who didn't make a noise when her friend was cut down, who didn't even try to get away, released a screeching roar: her eyes bulged with sound, her chin wrinkled to open her jaws as wide they would go and her gums turned red – a roar so terrible it blew out the lights. They shattered and spat like ice, glass cracked and threw itself in shards.

She raced to the door, arm as limp as the body on the bed, and scurried out the door on swift feet, Saya missed her chance.

"Shit!"

That horrible noise was still there, one she heard every time. She had to stop it before going after it. Martha shook her head, confused and scared and still screaming. That's where it was coming from.

"Oi."

The nurse sobbed hysterically.

"Oi!"

"No!"

Saya slapped her with her own hand. She was trying to avoid her gaze. She grabbed the silly woman like the grabbed that black man.

"Listen to me."

The nurse was forced to look into the cold steel eyes by the fingers that clenched into her fleshy cheeks. They shone in the darkness.

"Listen; just forget what you just saw."

Saya left marks on the face of the trembling matron. The corner of her lens had cracked.

Quietly, saying picked up the piece of her broken weapon, it made a tiny scraping noise, calmly walked over the metal back of the cupboard, and without rush, walked out the door.

Martha stood alone in the dark room. She could hear the music and cheering again.

Less than a minute ago it had been light and clean, and two young girls had been sitting quietly in sickbay. The remaining bulbs hung on the light like vertebra. She looked lost and saddened.

Her legs were trembling.

Glass slithers lay on the floor like snow. Her hair was a mess, shudders hung in her throat.

"Why . . . what is this . . . you are . . ."

He rubbed her temples and tried to make sense of the situation. Now the carefully-arranged bottles were smashed, leaking their contents, and the chill wind was blowing in. She almost wept. There was blood on the walls.

"Linda wasn't feeling well. She was just sleeping . . ."

It seemed to bring her out of her delirium, that poor little girl was still there. Linda lay there still on the bed.

"Linda . . . Linda . . ."

She turned towards the bed under that shattered window, her hands held up tight in compassion, her voice almost questioning.

Blood still gushed in slow rhythm. It dripped.

Martha made a small disgusted noise and held up her arm – it didn't work against that girl – urging herself to look at the carnage that was once a girl old before her time.

She was even more disgusted by the remains, the translucent skin, the blacken threads of veins, the chunky flesh, the nails . . . blood was still dripping from one nail.

Her look of pity changed to cautious unease, a mix of curiosity and fear. She drew her face away, just the tiniest amount.

She couldn't jump it – Saya raced towards the fence, sword in mouth and scrambled up the wires. The bards at the top won't matter.

When Martha is scared she grits her teeth and claws her face. She was trembling right now. It wasn't Linda.

"What? What is this?"

The skin, the face, the teeth, the ears . . .

"Linda . . ."

Did she –

"Sharon!" she stared and tried to back away as she would from a poisonous serpent, her hands clutched to her heart and pleading towards the door. "Sharon!"

A flower-shaped bloodstain stood by the open door. Droplets trailed out of room 126 down the corridor. Through her own heavy breath she tried to hear herself think.

A hulking figure masquerading as a young girl hauled itself down the empty shadowed halls, holding its damaged shoulder. It staggered towards the wall. Its arms were too big for its body.

Halloween Party, Halloween Party, Halloween Party. . .

Its breath was rasping. It stumbled against the big poster, gripping onto one of the witches hat's, and with a single rip tore it off the wall.

There was something wrong with its face, so horribly wrong. Where were its lips? Shrunken away to reveal several pointed teeth held by livid gums, its eyes were too big, too far apart, barely in their sockets, and its nose and all but vanished. Its skin was taunt and stretched like a mummified corpse and when it roared – how loudly it roared – it seemed to be pulling its mouth back over its jaws.

It sounded like the shriek of the Devil.

Elsewhere deep in the red light district, the hookers had taken up their spots for the evening. Many of the men ignored them, even the pretty ones. A lot of the sickly-pink neon lights at CluB Mabi were blinking.

Those that didn't ignore the girls of the night were inside, buying them drinks, letting them whisper in their ears, letting them laugh and smoke and smile.

The fag queen was inside, listening intensely. It would pass over human ears, even the ears of a prostitute always on her guard, even if the noise blew out the windows and shattered the lights. She was dressed in her kimono, wearing her earrings and lipstick and frown. Her hair was tied up tight, but it couldn't take away the wrinkles that appeared between her eyes when she stared at nothing, like Sharon and Linda and Saya.

The music was cheesy. The walls had a cracked-stone design, and the lights made all the bottles in the bar shine from every angle.

"Hey Mama-san, where's my beer?" Asked a drunk little fat man with a comb-over, waving his glass. He had glasses and a moustache too. His friend wasn't much better.

She turned robotically, looking over their heads into the distance. "Oh. I'm sorry." She politely served them their beers, said something in Japanese and lifted the bar door to leave. Everything inside was an unpleasant mix of tones – purple and orange, the colour of grease and bright lights from the slots machines, smog drifting from cigarettes.

In the alley behind all the colour has faded, washed away. Wood and wires and gas cylinders all had the same shade of dirty grey, like the stack of newspapers. She had a bottle in her hand.

She let the door close behind her. In this light it was hard to see the colour of her dress, it had flowers and a large blue band round her middle. There was a stiffness about her, her casual tone and body lost from that night of the suicide.

She turned a perfect 90 degrees and poured alcohol onto the stack of newspapers against the wall. It glugged and slopped itself in thick ropes between the wires and crates of beer. Her hand rose and fell gradually. On the walls there were switches and fuse boxes and thick white cables. The only sound was the patter of liquid and the gentle clink of an empty glass. It didn't break. It didn't make too much noise.

From inside her brace she took out a cigarette lighter and flicked on a flame. Then she threw it onto the paper.

The orange glow was brighter than that in the bar. It lit up the walls, the door, could bee seen from the other alleyways. She stood there, quite calmly. It crackled a little, and danced slightly.

Her face, when lit from the bottom, seems like a statue. She wore her mascara, her green eye shadow, her blush, but lost her scowl. She wore no expression. Smoke surrounded her again. The cackle became a deep growl.

She turned away with a stern expression, not back into the bar.

Her hair came down, but she didn't untie it.

Her flat mouth grew wider, though she wasn't saying anything.

Her eyes parted.

It's eyes glow red.

It's hair is turning grey and flows like tentacles.

Its' ears grow longer.

It's lips are missing. It's mouth draws back.

It opens it's mouth.

And when it opens it's mouth, still wearing the kimono with flowers, still wearing it's earrings, it's teeth grow long and sharp, and it's hair waves and dances like the flames of the fire, and it's voice turns from a deep growl into a breathing hiss. It looks like a corpse.

What passes over human ears made Saya, running across the roar, stop in front of cars that have to blow their horns and swerve to avoid her. Another passes behind her.

Unblinded by the headlights and unabashed by the angry horns, she could still hear them. She turned, looking behind her with a determines air. The tendons in her neck bulged, pursing her lips. Tyres screeched – they nearly hit each other.

Trails of sweat beaded down his forehead. Even his eyes widened. "I don't believe it. There's actually three of them!"

Her tore off the headphones, fingers nervous to grip something, feel his veins swell in his wrist. "Turn left here!" he said, grabbing Lewis' shoulder. Lewis managed to keep his eyes on the road.

"Aren't they at the base?"

"There's the other one!"

The image on the green radar flashed wildly, spinning and shrinking.

"Oh what?"

David scrutinized the map. "It's all over if we lose this one, hurry!"

Lewis threw his foot down on the pedal and the van sped past all other traffic, weaving into the fast lane.

The sword had one last use, Saya used it to break open the chain. It rattled and flung itself off the railings like an injured animal.

Without difficulty she drew the protecting grid back and opened the door. In the gloom she could still see it, by the gramophone.

NOT FOR SALE. They shone beautifully at night.

She lifted her arm and with the butt of the handle smashed the glass casing. Light flashed off the broken shards and without even cutting her hand or setting off an alarm she grabbed the sword, label still clinging onto the bindings. She was gone within seconds.

Long chapter, eh? Who cares – finally Blood lives up to its name!

Please tell me what you think of the action scenes. They look goooood on screen, crap on paper . . .

Please R&R