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Its particular ripeness was absolutely foul.
I pressed on regardless. Lured by that single overpowering aroma that clung to this place. Beneath the stink of shit. Blood. It leads me like a carrot dangling in front of a donkey, teasing my fangs, my mouth watering.
Sooner or later, the thirst always won. And I’d left it too long.
The way was dark but up above and all around, the city burned bright. False light. Humanity’s instinctive terror of the dark and all that lurked within, cloaked by darkness, had driven them to harness the power of the sun and turn night into day. Edison’s great folly. The old man had sought to create a warm light for all mankind, warmth and safety for every home. Instead, his invention had made them arrogant. Naive.
Humanity had grown careless, wrapped in their protective cocoon. So they’d forgotten the perils of the night, the hunters in the shadows and all the things that fed on them when the sun went down.
And had allowed darkness to creep back into their world.
I paused mid-stride. The trail swung off the beaten path and down the mouth of an alley a few meters ahead and I felt the instinctive thrill. I was getting close.
Men. Four of them. All in leather and denim. Huddled so close together that to any passers-by, they looked just like any other bunch of dudes out smoking, drinking, and whiling away a night on the town. But the smell was on them. Blood and fear. It was old, maybe weeks dry, but they were rank with it. And their eyes were all fixed on the mouth of the alley, waiting.
They’d do. A small smirk tugged irresistibly at the corner of my mouth. It would be so easy.
Though they gave no outward sign of noticing me, their hearts quickened as I walked into the open, the palpitations pulsing through their clothes. Then they all turned and the biggest of the group, a brute of a man with a face like a bulldog and a spider web tattoo etched across his shaved pate, stepped forward. “Hey man!”
Spinning around, I did my best to look surprised as he pushed himself forward and walked towards me. The others fell into step, spreading to his left and right. “H-hi, can I help you?” I said, my voice shaky.
“Yeah,” Spider Web’s stride quickened, moving in for the kill. “Gotta light?” His hand was in his jean’s pocket. No doubt a ploy to make me think he was reaching for his cigarettes. Idiot. He had something there. Its outline was clearly defined against the denim, but it was too long and thin to be anything like a carton of smokes. A flick knife probably. Knife crimes had been on the rise over the last couple of years. Easier to conceal than a firearm, with a considerably lower criminal sentence for carrying one if caught.
They were out of the alley and encircling me, closing in. I pivoted right then left, making a show of trying to watch them all at once, of being afraid to have my back to even one of them. “E-excuse me?”
Just a few steps closer.
“Hey, he asked you a question,” the one to my right asked, a lanky black, all smiles and teeth and-
My eyes narrowed on him. Something was wrong. He smelled wrong, like meat just starting to rot. Corruption. Disease.
I shifted my focus back to Spider Web. Dogs followed the alpha, the biggest and strongest of their pack. Bullies and cowards followed the same logic. He would give them orders. And the corruption was heaviest in him. And that could only mean one thing.
My hunger promptly dried up. I’m not the fussiest vampire, but I do have some standards. Feeding off of scum was all well and good, however, killers and rapists riddled with venereal diseases were about as appetising as mouldy bread.
Promptly dropping the farce, I turned on my heel and moved on.
“Hey! I asked if you ‘ave a light!” Spider Web shouted, and I half expected him to come after me. “Fucker, I’m talking to you!”
The pair on my left barred my way. One dark, short, and squat with arms corded in muscle. The other tall and doughy with lank blonde hair. They looked a right comical sight with their arms crossed, standing the sort of straight-backed posture a bouncer might adopt to look tough barring a club door. They were more Del and Rodney Trotter than Ronnie and Reggie Kray and as I closed the distance, Del Boy made to grab my arm.
“Touch me, and I’ll take your arm and beat you to death with it,” I promised, my voice low and deadly serious, but loud enough for all the group to catch every word.
The Trotter brothers promptly stepped back.
“What are you doin’, no- stop, fucker, come back here…” Impotent, Spider Web could do little more than hurl obscenities at my back, like a child whose mother had just taken his favourite toy away. Eventually, they’re swallowed by the night, and I went on, all the more famished but with nothing to show for the experience.
Then I heard it. Low and far away, but unmistakable.
Unsure of what else I might find lurking amidst the warren of ‘abandoned’ warehouses, I followed it cautiously. At first, it was little more than a thrumming beat in the air, but it grew with every step, leading me down to an old, dilapidated structure sitting just on the river. With its windows bricked over, parts of the roof missing or stolen, and red brick walls well decorated with layers of graffiti, it would have almost certainly been condemned long ago. No doubt, whatever developer had secured the plot would be chomping at the bit to tear it down and turn it into an extension of the outlet megastore across the water. Demolition notices already adorned most of the surrounding buildings.
The booming music emanating from within indicated that it was not entirely deserted. Walking around the perimeter, I found the entrance to an old subterranean coal bunker near the edge of the water. A padlock dangled off one rusted handle, unlocked and undoubtedly the entrance to whatever party raged inside.
The door opened smoothly, despite the rust, onto a gentle slope of the bunker’s coal chute. Thick layers of black coal dust lined the walls so I’m careful not to touch anything as I edged down the slope. It’s a tight fit, just barely wide enough for me to shuffle through. In its day, this would have been filled by river steamers or bargemen selling and shipping coal up and down the water to power the warehouse’s great machines. With the passing of fossil fuels however, it had obviously been converted into a dumping ground and squatter site.
Rubbish bags. Shopping trolleys. Drugs and other such paraphernalia. You name it, it had it.
The only door leading to and from the bunker was all the easier to see by the slivers of light between it and the frame.
