The Silent Legion Read online

“I am holding her!” shouted Jess, her face was bright red, and she was breathing heavily. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

  “Ok nearly there,” Mark said, moving a seatbelt aside that had become entangled on the woman’s boot. “Push.”

  Jess did as she was told, pushing her cargo, who slid across the faux leather. Mark bent the woman’s legs, as he carefully backed out of the car. “Christ, did Lucille Vulcan nerve pinch this woman or something? I need to learn this for when Lana doesn’t want to go to bed.”

  Mark laughed, closing the rear passenger door on his side with a clunk. “I would use it on myself. You know when you’re lying there and can’t drop off. You just boop,” he mimed squeezing his own neck, “and out like a light.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good point. I could use it when Hannah starts talking about whatever article she is writing. I know it pays the bills, but all that ‘what friend would you be if the cast of friends were also dogs?’ or ‘top ten Disney princesses as French cheeses’ stuff bores me to tears.” Jess opened the driver’s door and sat down. Mark followed her, taking up the passenger position. There was a click and noise of metal on metal as Jess adjusted her seat. “You always stick this way too far back. How are you pushing these pedals? I’m taller than you!”

  Mark shrugged, looked Jess directly in the eyes and slid his chair right back. "I like legroom," he said, holding up his hands as if held at gunpoint. "Anyway, let's get this one back to the station. Lucille was a little vague on how long she would be knocked out.”

  “She’s handcuffed right?”

  “Yeah, but I think waking up, handcuffed, in the back of a strange car might prompt a bit of an overreaction. At least a cell gives you an immediate idea of what happened.”

  “That’s fair,” said Jess, turning the key. The engine roared to life.

  Chapter Seven

  The location was different, but the tableau was the same. A circle of plastic chairs, its occupants leaning in towards the centre, whispering secrets and codes. They were in the backroom of a corner shop, racks of tins and pallets of bottles surrounded them, a forest of plastic and metal. Their faces were solemn, their hands clasped in worry. Maximus spoke first, he was holding a tablet in his hand, screen unlocked, browser open to a news website. “Woman arrested for attempted bombing at bar” read the headline.

  “It would seem,” said Maximus, “that sister Drusilla failed in her task. What’s worse is that she seems to have been arrested. I don’t need to tell you how serious this is.”

  The members of the maniple nodded, murmuring in agreement. “Sister Drusilla is resilient. I do not believe she will talk. Even if she does, the legion has stood strong for over two thousand years. Our ways and rituals are important because they work,” said Agrippina. She took the tablet from Maximus’ hands. She glanced over the article, the light from the tablet shimmering in her eyes and casting deep shadows onto her face. “It would seem that Drusilla attempted to eliminate the demons with a bomb of some kind? I wonder what went wrong?”

  “We can’t be sure,” admitted Maximus. “I have asked the oracle to meditate on these events. Perhaps they could shed a little more light on what events transpired.” He sighed loudly. “Drusilla was promising, it is a shame to lose her.”

  “I warned you she wasn’t ready for something like this, you should have sent someone with more experience,” said Anthony with a sneer. “Someone like myself or Pontius.” He gestured to the man to his left. His hair was white, his face wrinkled. Wide framed glasses sat on a bulbous nose.

  “I thank the brother for his confidence, but I cannot recollect the last time our maniple was required to deal with a single demon, let alone two. I fear any of our chances would have been about the same as Drusilla’s. It was a big ask Maximus. The range of demonic forms alone is staggering. It was a long shot at the best of times,” said Pontius, adjusting his glasses.

  “The oracle was confident in her abilities. As was I. The oracle is rarely wrong.”

  “And yet,” replied Pontius, “clearly not infallible. It is a shame, as you said Drusilla was very promising.” The older man tugged at the bottom of his cardigan, which had begun to ride up a little, the wool was sticking to the cheap plastic chairs. “It all begs the question about what we should do next.”

  “We need to finish her mission,” asserted Anthony. “We can’t let two demons roam around. Who knows what carnage they will cause.”

  Agrippina snorted, louder than she had anticipated. "How would you do that? To the public, they're two victims of a bombing. Do you think they aren't going to have some kind of security? No, best to wait for now. Whilst the eye is on them they aren’t likely to cause trouble.”

  “Agrippina is right,” said Maximus. “We can’t do anything about them for now. It’s just too dangerous. You know the rules. The secrecy of the maniple is paramount. We aren’t stopping any monsters if we’re all dead or in jail. We let them walk for now.” The faces before him scowled unhappily. “I don’t like it either. But it’s for the greater good.”

  “It’s a fucking farce is what it is,” muttered Anthony. He crossed his arms and tipped his chair onto its back legs. He rocked back and forth, the metal legs clattering on the concrete floor.

  “Moving on, we do have another task to complete. All of us,” said Maximus.

  “All of us?” asked Agrippina. She cocked her head concerned.

  “Yes, the oracle has identified something that will require us to move in as a team.” Eyes darted back and forth. Legionnaires operated alone. To require more than one meant something dangerous. More dangerous than two demons.

  “What could possibly require that?” spluttered Pontius, half in shock.

  “Vampires,” said Maximus.

  Vlad smiled, revealing rows of serrated dagger-like teeth. It was the smile of a shark, peering out over his domain. Across the warehouse his workers moved about, completing their tasks. A swarm of semi-naked bodies, a precaution against theft. Not that they would steal, the humans below were only in a semi-conscious state, Vlad was well practised in what his kind called the look. A sort of vampiric hypnosis. At one side of the warehouse, his mindless drones worked to cook methamphetamine. On the other, they loaded a batch of stolen televisions into a van. At the far end was a small door, tanned workers stepping in an out. It was that particular expansion that had given Vlad the idea of bringing in human workers. Within were rows of planters set under U.V lights. Weed sales were good for him, burning U.V rays were not.

  Vlad walked down the gantry ladder, stepping onto the work floor. He had been pathetic before, a sad lonely old man, wallowing in his home. Late-night television was somehow even worse than daytime television and being exclusively night based meant there was little to do for a man who looked in his eighties. He had started out selling stolen electronics mostly out of boredom but had quickly discovered a talent for criminal enterprise. Now he had his fingers in everything, drugs, stolen goods, and a light amount of people trafficking. Vlad smiled to himself and headed off towards the small office where his latest scheme was being operated from. He was proud of this the most.

  The room had previously been used as a foreman’s office for the company who had used the warehouse before him. Vlad had emptied it out, and placed a large folding table inside, the kind normally used to apply paste to wallpaper. At one end rested the blood they had collected, still held in assorted jars and plastic containers. Carl and Chet stood by the tables, working it like a production line. Chet emptied a container of blood into a tray before him. He then grabbed a small beaker, it too was full of blood, but it was darker, a deep looming red. He placed a large turkey baster into it, pulling out a few small drops which he released into the blood he had emptied. He slid the tray across to his brother, who carefully poured it into a funnel held to a metal stand with a clamp. The blood flowed slowly down a rubber hose, the bottom plugged into an empty I.V bag. It began to fill with a drip. A row of these stands was lined up at the end of t
he table, allowing the constant flow of blood.

  “Everything alright in here boys?” asked Vlad, standing in the doorway, light from the warehouse illuminating him like a vision.

  Carl nodded. “All fine boss, we should be able to deliver the rest of this stuff by tomorrow night.”

  “Good, Steve says the inmates at that home are getting antsy.” There was a venom in Vlad’s words. The thought of pottering around in a care home, nurses attending your call, wasting away to nothing filled him with a guttural disgust. “Plus, they pay good money for this, excellent money. Anything to feel just a little more alive.” Vlad grinned, flashing his fangs. He hated wearing the dentures, something about pretending to be human upset him at a primal level.

  “I was thinking- “began Chet.

  “Oh, wow, this is new. You fucking thinking,” laughed Vlad.

  "I was thinking, this isn't that scalable. Getting the blood is hard enough as it is, and how many old people's homes can we sell to really?"

  Vlad stared at Chet, one eyebrow raised. "Scalable? Where did you hear a term like that?"

  “I watch Dragons Den!” protested Chet.

  “Well, you are right. Which makes a fucking change. It’s not scalable. Not right now. But this is like a test run, a prototype you understand? You two fuckwits might have actually stumbled onto a good idea. We were worried about getting different blood types, matching people up with the right one and that. But your…solution to the missing blood means we only have the one blood type. It will be interesting to see how the fucking caged geriatrics react. If it’s ok, or even just not too bad, we can expand this outwards, start getting this stuff onto the streets.”

  Carl and Chet stared at Vlad. They looked confused. “I thought snatching people was a no-go? You went mad at us for it,” said Carl.

  Vlad smirked, shaking his head. “That’s because you two fuckers stole someone, in full sight of cameras. It’s a miracle nothing has come to us about that. No, we use the assets we have. We already have a small side trade in people trafficking, we can use those. We have them working in the warehouse. Plus, it’s easier for us. Watch.” Vlad turned, facing outwards into the warehouse. He pointed at a young man carrying a large box of plants, his skin tanned from working under the U.V lights. “Come here,” said Vlad, his voice seemed to echo with a deep booming reverberation. The man placed the box onto the ground and walked over to Vlad. He stood there, almost motionless, unblinking, enraptured in a supernatural stupor. Vlad opened his mouth, it gaped unnaturally, his bottom jaw distending like a snake. With a jolt he bit down onto the man's shoulder, his stretched mouth engulfing his neck and collarbone. There was a wet tearing noise and Vlad pulled his head backwards, ripping a chunk from his victim. Bone crunched, and tendon snapped as the meat came free, a chunk of flesh torn from his upper torso. Vlad allowed the mangled meat to drop from his jaw to the ground, the enraptured man followed, falling to his knees at first, then collapsing forward. Blood gushed from the wound, erupting across the room, pooling quickly onto the floor. "See," said Vlad, viscera trickling from his lips, "easier."

  The Legionnaires had piled into two cars for the short drive to London. They had griped and moaned at first, but Maximus had been resolute. The oracle had caught wind of a gang of vampires operating in London, two of them had been caught on closed-circuit cameras abducting a woman. He had demanded the entire maniple come. They had lost one legionnaire in the past twenty-four hours, and they had no idea how many vampires there were. He wasn't keen to lose anyone else.

  The ride was a relatively short one, whilst their maniple’s region covered the south of England, excluding Cornwall, Maximus had arranged the meeting to be as close to London as he could. The members of his car were deathly silent. It made sense. No legionnaire knew each other outside of the maniple, in fact, the legions rules and rituals explicitly ensured that this was the case. Compartmentalise, that was how the legion had endured for so long. Each maniple had next to nothing to do with each other, passing information along only rarely. The oracles communicated with each other, but kept their identities hidden totally from even the maniple they handled. Maximus knew from his day job that it was a similar set up to some terrorist organisations, not that he would have classed the legion as that, those other groups were fanatics, waging a war that to them seemed holy and right. Maximus knew his cause was righteous and just, which, in his mind, of course, was totally different.

  The various Legionnaires assembled in the car pack of a Valueways just down the road from what the oracle had stated was the Vampires main nest. A large warehouse tucked into an industrial estate, supposedly listed as unused. Even from this distance, they could make out the flicker of shadows moving in the dim light eking through the windows. The assembled maniple, numbered seven in all. Five men, Maximus, Anthony, Pontius, Claudius, and Commodus. Two women, Flavia and Marcia. They ranged from their late thirties to early sixties. It seemed to be the way with legionnaires. They were either bad at it and died young, or good at it and got too old and met a grisly end. As they had arrived to expect vampires, they all wore large cheap sunglasses they had acquired at a service station on the way into London. They all wore mostly black, an attempt to blend in, more from curious humans than vampires, who would have no problems seeing them in the dark. The effect was to make them look like the cast of a community theatre production of Westside Story.

  Slowly, and carefully they crept across the supermarket’s car park. A faint, bizarre smell wafted from them, a mixed assortment of powerful odours to mask their coming. Some vanilla, some garlic, a touch of egg. One maniple member had even brought a durian. They hadn’t bothered with mirrors, Pontius had dealt with a vampire a few years back and had quickly discovered that it was useless. They had gathered around him before they had left, pupils eager to tap the elder legionnaire for knowledge. Pontius strode ahead of the maniple now, confident to show his supposed expertise. In his hand was a large U.V Torch. A monstrous thing bought for his prior hunt. Its handle was the size of a normal torch, its head, however, blossomed like a sunflower, studded with L.E.D bulbs. The thing had required a quick trip into the Valueways itself to procure D batteries. They had been slid into the torch like shotgun shells. At his waist, like his compatriots, was his blade. The helix handle and coin pommel jutting from behind his belt. If all went well it would taste glory tonight.

  Vlad watched as a handful of his thralls dragged the one he had slain away, blood trailing across the floor. He was pleased, his hold over them was strong, a sight like that would have broken a lesser vampires dominion.

  “You’ll need to really teach me how to do that someday,” said Carl, he scratched his head, his bald crown glinting under the rooms single hanging bulb.

  Vlad chuckled. “It’s all to do with your confidence. Your charisma. It takes time, practice. It will come to you if you keep at it." He tapped Carl on the shoulder, smiling gently. Carl found it bizarre, the tiny old man had never been so friendly to him. Vlad stood there for a moment, his nose twitching slightly. He sniffed loudly. "Can you…can you smell that? Smells like fucking dog farts and cupcakes?” There was a bang as one of the warehouse doors crashed open, figures pouring through, blades held high.

  Chapter Eight

  There was carnage. Blood and gore and sinew. Great splashing arcs of blood as the waves crashed upon the legionnaires. They had stormed into the warehouse expecting a cluster of vampires. They had not expected a crowd of semi-naked unarmed humans, who had thrown themselves at them at the command of a tiny geriatric man. Their attackers swung fists and lashed with feet, but the legionnaires were armed, and at least partly organised. Quick flashing daggers had gutted the first wave, before the legionnaires had tipped over a large table, scattering clear plastic bags filled with white powder across the ground. The onslaught of bodies seemed to pay no heed to tactics, planning or indeed even to each other. They clambered over tables, pushing atop one another. A handful were killed by the crushing stampede alone. The m
indless attackers were easy pickings as they stopped to climb over the table, strikes finding eyes and lungs, each fallen body another new section of barricade.

  Vlad snarled, watching the bloodshed unfold. His snarl twisted to a sneer, revealing the forest of blades hidden within. He glanced at Carl and Chet, who were watching the violence in awe. Vlad snapped his fingers, loudly and repeatedly.

  “Hey, fuck faces, are you going to stand there or are you actually going to be useful?” he barked.

  “What do you want us to do boss?” Chet asked, still staring out the doorway ahead.

  “What do I want you to do…what do I want?" Vlad looked down at the floor and rubbed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. "You're a vampire," he said gesturing at the ground. He looked up and stepped directly in front of Chet. He raised his hands, gripping Chet at the sides of his head. "You are a vampire," he repeated. "They are humans, go out there," his voice erupted into a roar, “and fucking kill them!”

  The legionnaire's focus was broken as two identical bald men sprinted from an open doorway. They wore tracksuits identical in all but the colour and each reached into their mouths casting what appeared to be dentures aside as they ran. They leapt, clearing the crush of bodies, landing clear behind them, near the doorway they had entered from. It was enough, the brief distraction tipping the scales against them. A man wearing tattered briefs, near malnourished and heavily sunburnt lunged forward and grabbed Marcia, pulling her over the table. People quickly surrounded her kicking furiously. One of the vampires, the one wearing a maroon tracksuit, ran at Claudius. The legionnaire slashed with his blade, but the vampire ducked, lashing out with its hand as it did. The blow knocked Claudius into the air, there was a sickening crack as his ribs shattered from the impact. He smashed into the concrete, grunting as the air was knocked from his lungs. The vampire landed a moment later, having leapt into the air after him. There was a flash of fangs, and his mouth stretched to an impossible size. He crouched down and with one swift motion tore out the throat of Claudius.