to him.
“Pleeeeeaaarrrrrrsssssssssse,” she slurred, her mouth slack, her jaw working fiercely trying to form the words. “Teeerrrrrllllllll yooooo eveeerrrrythhhhiiinnnnnnnng. Doooooooo annnnnnythhhiiiiinnnng.”
“If you don’t give her some blood,” Jamie shouted into the intercom, “I’m going to put my arm through the barrier. And then you can explain to Admiral Seward what happened.”
This girl might know where my mother is. I don’t care if you have to throw a bucket of blood into the cell from across the corridor, I need to know what she knows.
Silence.
Jamie could picture the guard in his office, weighing the decision, not wanting to have to explain anything to Admiral Seward, especially not how someone had been eviscerated in one of the cells on his watch.
“I’ve called my superior,” the guard said eventually. “It’s his decision. He’s coming down now.”
“OK,” replied Jamie. There was a pause, and then the guard spoke again.
“You know, what I said to you before, I was just—”
“I don’t care,” interrupted Jamie, and the intercom fell silent.
Jamie stood in front of the girl’s cell and watched her. She had crawled across the room and curled herself into a tight ball on the narrow bed that ran along one wall. She was moaning rather than howling now, a deep sound that Jamie could feel through the soles of his feet, and every few seconds she lifted slightly into the air, before flopping back down on to the white sheets.
“So you’re Julian Carpenter’s son,” said a voice beside him, and he jumped.
For God’s sake, stop being so easy to creep up on.
He turned towards the source of the voice and looked into the handsome face of a man in his forties, dressed in the same black armour as everyone else he had met since arriving at the base. The man was carrying a small metal case and regarding him with open curiosity.
“That’s right,” Jamie replied. “My name’s—”
“Jamie. I know. Mine is Major Paul Turner. I’m the Level H duty officer. I understand you want to give this prisoner blood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jamie. The sir came naturally; something about this man made him nervous.
“Tell me why I should let you do that. Bearing in mind that she almost killed one of my colleagues last night. And tried to kill you.”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Jamie said. “I need to know what she knows. All that matters is my mother.”
Major Turner regarded him with the merest hint of a smile on his face.
“I knew Marie,” he said, and Jamie gasped. “Met her several times. She was a good woman.”
“What do you mean was?” demanded Jamie, colour rising in his face.
“Sorry. Poor choice of words,” replied Turner. “I knew your father as well. We were friends. Did you know that?”
“No,” said Jamie. “I didn’t know that.”
The two looked at each other, the space between them thick with a tension that Jamie didn’t understand. Eventually Major Turner unclipped the latches on the metal case, reached inside and withdrew two pouches of dark red blood. He tossed them lightly to Jamie, who caught them, never taking his eyes off the man.
Turner returned his gaze, then said something beneath his breath that Jamie couldn’t quite make out, turned smartly on his heels and walked rapidly back along the cellblock towards the exit.
‘Prove me wrong.’ It sounded like he said, ‘Prove me wrong.’
He turned back to the cell. Larissa was still on the bed but now she was sitting upright on the edge of it, her eyes fixed on the plastic pouches in his hands. Jamie looked down at them and felt a sudden terrible disgust. He threw them through the barrier. They never made it to the concrete floor; Larissa moved like mercury across the cell, plucking them out of the air and dropping to her knees. She tore the top off the first one with her gleaming, pointed teeth, and Jamie turned away as she tipped it up and squeezed the contents into her mouth.
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