The Red Slayer

The tink, tink, tink of metal bounding down the hallway breaks the silence, followed by the hiss of gas escaping. I switch on night vision, watching Michael look around nervously in the darkness, as if more assailants are about to drop from the ceiling.

I pull the pin from one of my own gas grenades and toss it to the floor, letting it spin, scutter and release a cream-coloured cloud which, reeks ominously of garlic. I release my breath. I’ll be safe, but vampires will be fumigated like insects. I can already hear coughing from the corridor as well as scuffling.

Michael kneels on the floor to take a breath. Big mistake.

I send my knee into his spleen, my elbow into his jaw, my foot into his groin. Goose-bumps crawl across my flesh with satisfaction. He keels over like a paper doll. I roll him onto his front with a light foot nudge. I’ve planned how to pin down his wrist with my foot, the exact spot below his shoulder blade to rest my knee, the precise degree to twist his right arm so it hurts but doesn’t dislocate.

‘See how it feels,’ I hiss under my breath.

‘Who are you?’ my uncle cries out. ‘What do you want?’

‘I am the Red Slayer, prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell.’

‘What’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain. Why are you sending vampires to hunt victims? Why does it have to be men and boys?’

‘Let me go and I’ll tell you.’

‘You think me a simpleton.’ I twist his arm some more. He groans, unable to scream since I’m sitting on his lungs. ’Ever dislocated a shoulder, Michael? I have. It’s more painful than it looks. I could bring my hand down right now and show you. Then again, I don’t know my own strength; I could detach it from your body. So, tell me!’

He lets out another gasp of pain. 'Testosterone. Testosterone is the key!’

‘The key to what?’

He doesn’t reply. Only wheezes.

'The key to what? Tell me or you’ll spend the next year saving up for a robot arm.’

‘That’s enough!’ Luke shouts from the door, pulling me off of Michael. ‘We have to go before the power comes back on.’ He starts running, pulling me by the wrist, out of the office, down the corridor, across the threshold of the now-shattered frosted glass door. Olga takes the lead back to the window with Dante running alongside her. They each abseil from the window first. I detach the cable and descend after them with my grapple wristband. Once they’re across the zipline between the Shard and Guy’s Hospital, they turn around to see me still stood on the Shangri-La Hotel roof. Instead of zipping down after them, I detach the cable and let it recoil across the street to them.

I kneel down, hooking the bottom of my cape to tiny clasps on the back of my boots and thread my arms through hidden cuffs. All it takes is a running jump off the building and my cape holds me airborne like a parachute, letting me reach the other side where Dante is waiting with open arms to catch me.

‘So that’s why you have a cape,’ he says.

‘It’s not just for swishing around dramatically.’

A moment later, the Shard lights up like a Christmas tree once again. I’m awash with satisfaction at a job well done. Plus, I got a little revenge in there. Luke, Dante and Olga zip down to the car park roof where Sophia is waiting, while I wait to unhook it from my side and glide across the gap. The shallower angle means I have to shoot a grapple onto the side of the car park to make it.

Sophia powerwalks over to me. I barely have my feet on the ground before she asks, ‘Did you get it?’

I simply nod and she ushers us into the van without another word. Once the van gets moving, I take my mask off and let the relief wash over me and adrenaline fatigue to set in. Still, I have enough energy to process what we did, what we saw and what we could have done differently.

‘The gas grenades worked like a charm, didn’t they?’ I say.

‘The vampires just choked up and started crumbling,’ says Olga.

‘Michael wasn’t affected,’ says Luke, shooting a judging look my way. ‘So he wasn’t a vampire.’

‘No,’ I reply, ‘Or he may have a lower human/vampire blood ratio that doesn’t make him vulnerable to garlic yet.’

'Or he was human,’ Luke emphasises. ‘Meaning you nearly karate chopped a man’s arm off—’

‘That’s nothing compared to what he did to me.’

‘If I hadn’t intervened, you might have killed him.’

I cross my arms and slouch until my seatbelt comes up under my chin. The words, ‘Would that be so terrible?’ stay in my head though. We’re stuck in an awkward silence for the rest of the journey. Not even Sophia speaks on the way through the tunnels and back into the lab where I take the blue memory stick from my corset and hand it to Dad. ‘And this is absolutely everything?’ he asks.

‘Olga has the recordings. Nothing was written down. Though I did manage to squeeze some information out of Michael when he showed up. He said “testosterone is the key”.’

‘The key to what?’

I shrug. ‘He didn’t say. Perhaps the data will tell us.’

‘Of course, he wasn’t able to say much,’ says Luke, ‘Thanks to Iorwen squashing the air out of him.’

‘What?’ Dad sighs, though can’t hide the grin that comes with it. ‘How on earth—’

I recall the scuffle to him, miming a little too intensely.

‘And he screamed?’ says Dad, still grinning.

‘Like a pig,’

Dad bursts out laughing until Elisa snaps. ‘Jason, don’t encourage her.’

‘That bastard did a number on Iorwen. Her landing a few blows on him his pretty damn mild in my opinion.’

‘And he’ll be easier to apprehend once we find out what’s on the data,’ I add.

Elisa sighs. ‘How much data is worth sacrificing your decency for?’ She turns to the elevator with Luke following. He leaves his mask and gear on the closest workbench while Dante, Olga and Sophia nonchalantly stare in different directions.

***

I don’t wake up until 11AM, and that’s only because Tara calls me. I reach agonisingly for the phone, just to make Ed Sheeran stop singing. Once it’s gone, Tara is no less quiet. The second she shouts, ‘Iorwen!’ I have to hold the phone at arms’ length.

‘Great news!’ she continues. ‘We can hang out all day. I’m on my way to yours now.’

I yawn. ‘Wha…?’

‘My mum caught her boyfriend coming home at four in the morning. They’ve been rowing for hours. They didn’t even know I left.’

‘Oh, okay. See you soon.’

Somehow, I get out of bed and make it downstairs. Dad has left some toast in a rack for me, but I also find a pot of vanilla yogurt in the fridge which I shovel down like ice cream. I’m halfway through when the doorbell rings. With Dad in the lab and Dante and Olga in the pool, I’m the only one around to open it.

Tara, looking sunny in her makeup, denim dress, sparkly woollen tights and pink sweatshirt, looks at my bushy hair and laughs.

‘You look like you have a hangover,’ she says. ‘Are you eating yogurt out the pot?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s vegan,’ I say, letting her in. ‘No cows were overcrowded or tortured or had their children ripped away from them before they were shot in the head to make this yogurt.’ Once we reach the kitchen, I slap it on the counter. ‘Sure is disgusting though. Overboiled cardboard would be more palatable.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighs Tara with another laugh. She takes out a fresh spoon and finishes it for me while I get a can of coke to get rid of the bland taste. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘You’re usually decked out in gym kit at this time of the morning.’

I hop up on the stool beside her, leaning against the counter. ‘It was a rough night. That’s all. Didn’t get to sleep until gone three.’

‘Oh, was it anxiety over Prizegiving? I know how you feel. It’s come around so quickly, I can’t believe it’s tomorrow night.’

Prizegiving. The idea of singing in front of the whole school seems like a problem for a different Iorwen Davis. One who doesn’t physically assault her uncle in revenge, or break into the Shard. A grin steadily spreads across my face as I imagine the simplicity of singing in front of a crowd. Gliding off hotel roofs really puts things in perspective.

‘Why are you smiling?’ asks Tara.

‘I’m just excited for tomorrow.’

‘I know you’ll be great. I was hoping we could go into town and get our outfits today. I saw the perfect black dress in New Look.’

I let out an awed breath. ‘You know what? A shopping spree sounds great. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and we’ll be off.’ I jump down from the stool, stopping in the doorway to turn back to her. ‘Oh, and if we end up in River Island – which you know we will – make sure I don’t go crazy.’

‘Deal,’ she giggles.

It doesn’t take too long to put my black-watch suit on or style my hair into a quaffed ponytail. Makeup takes all of ten minutes. Tara is sat in the pool room talking to Olga and Dante when I go to the lab to tell him I’m going out.

He’s sat in front of the giant computer screen. Window after window of files spreads across the largest one, the others displaying everything from computer code to complex algorithms.

‘How’s it going?’ I ask him.

He swivels around in his chair and regards my appearance. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Tara and I are going shopping. Still need our outfits for tomorrow night.’

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Looking forward to that. I’m sure Luke and Elisa will be there.’

‘They’re not too angry with us, are they?’

He stands up and pats my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s hard to be ethical in situations like these. It probably was good that you didn’t kill him though.’ He walks with me back to the elevator, but in the few seconds his back is turned, he doesn’t see me take my mask from the desk drawer and put it in my bag.

***

I don’t go crazy in River Island. I go crazy in all the stores we visit, including the vegan café where we go for late lunch. Despite Tara’s best efforts, I like spoiling myself after trying experiences, whether it be wrapping up in a blanket to watch Phantom, or buying a brown tweed trouser suit not unlike Luke’s, with elbow patches and a bow tie to match.

Tara buys her black dress without much ceremony. I was hoping for a fun trying on montage where we try on several dresses. Sadly, shops don’t really do that anymore. These days, you go in with a token, try it on, then get out.

As for my Prizegiving costume, I don’t know where I’m going to find it. I merely let myself wander down Oxford Street. It wouldn’t be right to sing Elton John without wearing some form of sequins. Thankfully, they’re in this year, and decorate an amazing red blouse in a shop window with puffy sleeves and feathered cuffs in various red shades.

‘I need it,’ I say to Tara.

Once I have the top, the remaining ensemble is easily found: dark-grey boot-cut jeans, a headband decorated in fake rubies, and studded-heeled boots that give me five more inches of height.

We heave our way into the nearest café to rest with our many bags before the long journey home. Tara gets her phone out and turns it on. Her lockscreen reveals several missed calls from Mum’s BF #23. She sighs and turns it off again.

‘He can’t track your phone, can he?’ I ask.

‘My dad pays for my phone.’ She pauses. ‘But I’ll probably get a thrashing once I get home.’

‘What?’ I gasp, reaching across the table to grab her hands. ‘Does your mother know?’

‘I don’t mean literal thrashing,’ she says, though her eyes drift to the side and she starts biting her lip.

‘But you wouldn’t put it past him?’

Her silence is all I need.

‘Stay over at mine tonight and we’ll figure out a way to get rid of him. We’ll go over to yours now and get a few things, but I really don’t like the idea of him under the same roof as you.’

Tara nods solemnly, squeezing my hands before letting go. ‘All right. You know better than most what to look out for.’

‘That,’ I say. 'And, I’ve read all the Jacqueline Wilsons.’

***

It’s getting dark when we reach the beige house. With both cars gone, we should be in and out without a problem. Tara immediately grabs a duffle bag and fills it with necessities. I can share anything with her from tampons to toiletries, but she’ll need her uniform for tomorrow, her schoolbooks, toothbrush and as many socks, pants and bras that she can fit in there.

‘What’s going on?’ someone says from the door. I jump into a fighting stance, only to find Kyle. ‘Tara, where’ve you been all day.’

‘Out with my girlfriend,’ she replies sternly. ‘And I’m going out again. Iorwen says it’s a bad idea to be around when Mike gets home.’

‘You may be right there. I’m staying with Dad. I’ll tell him where you’ve gone.’

She zips up her duffle and slings it over her shoulder. As we head downstairs, I consider the shortest route home. ‘We’ll take the train,’ I tell her. ‘Head back to Finchley Station.’

At the foot of the stairs, I reach for the front door, expecting Tara and I to simply walk out. But before my hand touches it, I hear the car pulling into the driveway before I see the headlights through the distorted glass door.

‘That sounds like Mike’s car,’ says Kyle glumly.

‘Oh no,’ says Tara, ‘What do we do?’

I turn around to see her pleading face. ‘We’ll go out the back. Quickly.’

We hurry to the kitchen where Tara opens the back door and closes it just as we hear the front open. The garden gate at the back is directly opposite. Tara goes to unbolt it, only to discover a padlock in place.

‘Oh no,’ she sobs.

Shouting comes from the house. Kyle seems to be stalling him.

‘Stand aside,’ I tell Tara, putting the bags down. I deliver a roundhouse kick and the gate swings open.

‘Go!’ I beckon at Tara as I go back for the shopping. I hear the backdoor opening as I follow Tara into the alleyway.

‘He’ll catch up,’ she pants, though she doesn’t lose her stride.

‘We’ll make it,’ I say running almost casually. ‘Just keep running. Don’t stop for anything.’

I don’t hear footsteps behind us, but I know that car is out there. We stick to the alleys to be safe. These mazes behind suburban gardens are our best cover. Tara can’t jog steadily at the best of times, but being weighed down makes her face turn red.

We stop to catch our breath when we’re but a street away from Finchley Station. I’m fine, though a little thirsty, but Tara looks ready to keel over. Her duffle slips off her shoulders and I take the chance to sling it over my own back.

‘Iorwen, you can’t—’

‘I can. Don’t take it personally, but I am fitter than you. I only ask that you carry my oyster card so we can get past the barriers quicker.’

With her load lightened, we make it down the street, reaching a deserted stretch of car park. The station is on the other side. Our pace quickens with excitement. My thighs are burning from this extreme workout. It’s like running a marathon carrying kettlebells.

Tara starts running ahead of me, turning back to smile at me when all the joy in her face vanishes. I turn around and see a car pulling into the car park. It’s that same silver BMW and it’s headed towards us.

The two of us break into a sprint. The steel railing between us and the station is just ten feet away though the car is speeding after us. Tara reaches it first and nimbly climbs over. I try to picture it as a railing on a rooftop I can jump off of before reaching another. But I’m too weighed down. Instead, I drop like a stone and slide down a steep grassy bank.

‘Iorwen!’ Tara slides down after me, but I get up under my own steam.

The car screeches to a stop at the railing we just cleared. The LED lights still glow, practically blinding us. As the door opens and the driver steps out, I reach into the opening of my shirt and pull out a gas grenade. Pulling the pin with my teeth, I hurl it up the ramp where it lands at his feet

Tara’s jaw drops instantly, but I tug at her arm to keep going. We hurry down the steps to the station and make it past the barriers. Thankfully, a Metropolitan train is arriving.

‘We’ll change at Baker’s Street,’ I tell her when we reach the platform and the train pulls in.

‘Where did you get that—’

‘Not here. I’ll explain when we’re not running for our lives.’

We drop our bags by the seats we collapse into once aboard. I turn to look out the train window, only to spot someone emerging onto the platform a split second before the train starts moving. They skid to a halt once they realise they’re too late. The face, bruised but familiar, meets mine. He scowls, I scowl back until the train rolls out of sight.

‘Oh my god, he nearly caught up,’ says Tara, also looking out the window to see him slipping away.

’You mean to say…the guy with the bruised jaw…that was your stepdad?’

She nods. ‘Why, do you know him?’

I catch my breath and tell her, ’That’s my uncle. The uncle.’

© Alice of Sherwood, May 2020