First Interview

By CT Grey

On the eve of the Great Panic Mi5’s Senior Intelligence Analyst Henrik Jackson sits down to interview an impossible creature, a six and half centuries old vampire called Lady Jane McGriffin. She shouldn’t exist, yet, there she is, sitting in front of him, telling him a tale of how she survived the days leading to the world-wide zombie apocalypse that sent the elite packing, desperate to leave Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CT Grey
• Release date: Nov 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781310270314

CT Grey

C.T. Grey is an information junkie and engineer, who, from a very early age, started to build networked computer clusters and write obscenely complicated documentation; however, he soon realised that developing dark stories set in post-apocalyptic scenarios and faraway places was much more entertaining and interesting than going through all those super technical journals. C.T. Grey not only writes in a second language, but he has developed and honed his skills so well that he has become a well-respected critic. Not only by helping aspiring writers to master their own craft, but he also devotes a lot of time writing episodic reviews and guiding conversations on critically acclaimed television series like: The Walking Dead, Star Wars: Rebels, The Expanse, Game of Thrones and multiple other SF, Fantasy and Horror productions. Having had previous articles published online and in technical documents, specialist magazines and hacker underground journals. You can find him blogging on a daily basis via Facebook on technology, science and politics and a myriad of topics, fact and fiction. He currently lives in London with his wife Vivienne and two, very spoilt, black cats named Treasure and Precious.

Book preview

First Interview

By

C.T. Grey

Edited By

Jeff Richards

Copy-Edited By

Chris Penycate

Cover By

Jackie Felix

Copyright 2017 CT Grey

2nd Edition

First Published by Amazon and Smashwords in 2017

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication maybe only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing on the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For Vivienne

TABLE OF CONTENTS

First Interview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

BIOGRAPHY

First Interview

I should have guessed… A raven-haired woman started saying as she stood in Interview Room 3 doorway. She didn’t look particularly noticeable. In fact, physically, she looked pretty normal, like any other person, and the only real difference was the way she dressed. In leather. Close combat leather, with interwoven metal threads that provided protection from almost any attack. But especially the tens of thousands of undeads now wandering the streets of London. …suits never die.

Please sit. I gestured a seat at the opposite side of the metal table. Miss...?

Mrs McGriffin, she said proudly. Jane McGriffin. And you are?

I glanced at the blades and the hand-crossbow Sergeant Red had confiscated on her way in. Henrik Jackson. How are you?

Considering the situation, Jane laughed. Pretty well, I would say.

I see. I picked up a pen and clicked the end. The zombies aren’t bothering you?

Mister Jackson. She steeled her emerald green eyes on me and, for a fleeting moment I felt a primal terror grip my mind. But, contrary to my imagination, she never launched herself over the table. Instead, she said: "Of course they are bothering me. A great deal, in fact. But finding your lot doing pretty well down here is giving me hope that you might have a solution to the problem on the outside."

A solution? I raised an eyebrow. What do you mean by that?

Oh dear, Mister Jackson. She laughed again. You are a funny one, aren’t you?

Right. I shrugged my shoulders and returned my attention to the hastily constructed report I’d received from Internal Security moments ago. It merely described a fight, in which four vampires and one human had fought in front of our underground bunker entrance. I didn't need to reach a hastily written conclusion to see it had not ended well. But there was one thing that intrigued me over everything else.

What the hell? Vampires?

The moment the guards had got out, the human was lying dead in Jane’s hands. And the victim had two nearly identical puncture wounds on her neck.

Vampires, I thought as I browsed through the images, are they real?

I had no idea how or where to start digging for an answer to that question, or why they’d brought their deadly argument to our entrance twelve hours after we had sealed the whole underground complex and to follow the Plan down to the last letter. Then again, those were almost footnotes to the real questions my masters wanted me to ask as, according to them, the most pressing issue was what she knew about the menace that’d brought not only our country but our great civilisation to its knees. Zombies. Shit, why not Vampires, too?

Oh come on, Jane said. Don’t be such a grump, will you?

According to this. I pointed my pen at the notes. You are classified as a vampire. Is that true or is that some sort of joke…

The words became mush in my mouth as Jane parted her lips and revealed perfectly white and non-pointy teeth behind a smile which could have melted ice around even the hardest man’s heart. A vampire? She looked at me curiously. Are you serious?

I sighed as a thought of Harry pulling another fast one popped into my mind. I tapped a code into the keypad. In a blink of an eye, a large mirror next to the entrance transformed to a giant screen that started showing a footage Internal Security had captured from outside the Thames House entrance.

For a few seconds, I was captivated by the images of four well-dressed zombies on hands and knees in front of the reception desk at our base entrance. It wasn’t because I’d not seen their kind before, but because it seemed to me that they’d not even noticed Jane when she ran down the stairs, carrying an unconscious skinhead girl on her shoulders almost as if Jane were a grizzly fireman.

She was nothing like them, and nothing in her slender body should have enabled her to carry a person like that. Not that she seemed to care, even though, to the best of our knowledge, the situation in Thames House had gone way past critical. In fact, she shouldn’t had been able to fight all those hundreds of type twos and threes and survive. Nevertheless, there she was, dressed like a fighter and very determined to find a safe-haven, the kind of place we were planning to offer in ten years’ time … not now.

But the moment she stepped onto the entrance floor she stopped and looked around as if she had lost something. It was just as I had expected, because the whole room had been rigged with active silence. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long before a revelation sparked across her bloodied face, faster than anyone we had put through that test before. And when it did, Jane simply turned her gaze towards the camera and smiled, while deep gashes on her face and neck rapidly knitted together.

Now, that is not possible. I hit the pause button. Is it?

Really? She raised her eyebrows, You say—

Absolutely. I nodded and then tapped in another code. The footage fast-forwarded to a point where she was just about to sink her fangs into the girl’s neck, while the other three vampires stood by the zombies they’d just disposed of mercilessly. That’s not normal either. Is it?

Tsk, tsk, she said. In a flash the image before me blurred, and when my optical sensors sharpened again, I saw Jane cleaning her blood-red painted nails with the pointy end of an engraved silver dagger. "That’s a very dangerous topic you just approached."

I gulped and sharply shook my head to Sergeant Red as he was about to take a step towards our ‘guest’, and then I turned all my attention back to what should not even be possible and I said: I would have thought that the revelation makes it all so much more interesting. Don’t you agree?

Now… Jane smiled wickedly. I have always believed that fearless men are the sexiest of them all, and there is no doubt in my mind that you’re not scared. In fact, all this time I have listened to your heart beating and it’s like a metronome. It has not picked up.

Me? I gasped as that primal terror gripped my mind again, Fearless… But without giving in to it for a second time I raised a hand to my mouth and pretended that I was yawning. It was a trained response that I had practised thousands of times to hide my real feelings to achieve results. My mission in conducting this or any other interview - on possible future subjects - was to gain invaluable Intel on the ground, because there was no way for us to gain that stuff from the ground anymore.

And I didn’t need to be sitting in the Tank to realise how valuable an asset she could be, as there was no doubt in my mind as to what her race could do to help us. If she really was a vampire, …hardly.

She fixed her eyes on me and measured me for a moment. Maybe I am wrong. And maybe you’re not what you say you are; am I right?

"Oh really? Why do you think that way?

She laid down her dagger and looked me in the eyes. That is clever. Really clever. You’re not a man. You’re a machine.

I felt shocked at first. Like any normal person would be. Well, at least in situations like this. But then I realised that if everything that had been written over the years about vampires had been true, then what they’d said about the heightened senses would also have to be true. And none of the technological gizmos we’d hidden in these specially prepared rooms would be able to fool anyone of her kind.

You know how I could tell that you are not a living, breathing human?

I looked into her eyes. Those sexy, seducing and intelligent eyes, which probably had looked into millions of pairs over the years, and asked: How old are you?

Me? She sparked another smile. Take a guess. Jane leaned back and pushed the dagger away as she pulled out a worn, silver cigarette case from under her armour and asked, Seriously!

I rounded my lips and slowly blew out: Three… four hundred, perhaps?

No Mister Jackson. Jane laughed out loud. I have lived since thirteen thirty three.

What’s that? I turned my head towards Sergeant Red. Six hundred…

Sixty five? he suggested.

I leaned my head back and looked at the ceiling as I calculated for a moment. Six Hundred Sixty Seven. More than six and a half centuries. My Lord.

Bless. She grinned wolfishly. And also sexy. A religious and God-fearing man.

I didn’t know what to do as I realised the blush on my cheeks transmitted directly through the neuro-channels into the projection, the holo-drone cast over its surface. And that should not have happened. I was a professional and I should have acted like a professional, but there I was, sweating like a pig inside the telepresence cocoon as if she was the first person I’d ever had the chance to investigate. And I didn’t know what to do as she lit her cigarette and blew smoke rings in my face.

Would you like to say something?

Like what? I frowned.

Like please welcome to our… whatever this is… Ma’am.

I folded my arms and shook my head. "I’m sorry, Ma’am, but before we really know you, I cannot tell you anything about this—"

Jane rolled her eyes and tapped ash onto the floor. "You are so-o secretive, Mister Jackson. But then again, it hardly surprises me, as you lot managed to dig this place under Westminster without anyone knowing anything. So, taking that into account, I don’t believe they would have employed any other types to conduct this … what you call this … thing?"

What thing?

What we are having here… She waved her hand around. An interro—

No ma’am. I dropped my pen and looked determinedly into her eyes. "This is not an interrogation, but an interview, or, if you would like to call it so, a conversation between two individuals in order to find out what you know about the walking dead et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

An interview. Jane looked me questionably. So I’m free to leave whenever I ch—

I raised a finger. I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.

But—

There are no ifs or buts, Mrs McGriffin. We haven’t taken away your possessions, have we?

She glanced at her weapons and said, No, but…

I sighed. Ma’am, you and I, and that poor man over there, are going to stay here until you have given me some satisfactory answers.

Jane glanced at the base-guard and said, you poor man.

Never mind about him, I said. When was the first time you became aware of these undead walkers, which now occupy our—

Before I answer...

Yes… I sighed and dropped the pen.

Could I get something to drink?

Of course. I nodded. What would you like: water, tea, coffee…?

She grinned like a Cheshire Cat and then said softly, something red, please.

*** Jane ***

When was the first time I encountered the walking dead, I thought, as a smirk spread across my face. I knew exactly the time, but I bet he wasn’t asking about zombies, but actually wanted to know details about vampires. But that I just simply couldn’t go on and start explaining. That wouldn’t lead anywhere.

It was absolutely pointless to try to keep my ex-husband in the dark and hide his agenda from the former masters who had ruled the earth. So I pointed my thumb towards the screen, where Damien was standing at the centre of the trio, who had driven me and Jaq to this hidden ‘sanctuary’. You see the man in the trench coat, holding a rapier in his hand?

Yes, Henrik Jackson said. What about him?

He knows more about those things than I do…

Way more than what he’d ever implied, because at the moment when the zombies kicked us from the top of the food chain I still trusted him. Completely. There was no question about that. And why shouldn’t I have, since I had absolutely no idea how much he actually knew about those things, when I met him at the Brooks Gentlemen Club at the heart of Belgravia, London.

But I knew that he most probably had more information than the public on things like, the impending financial Armageddon the Eastern Coalition, was threatening to unleash on Western countries at the end of the war we’d waged in the Middle-East and Northern Africa. But you couldn’t sense that in any way or shape, even though I was pretty certain that most of the club members had their dirty fingers in those pies. In fact, I could have sworn that those members didn’t even think twice about political reforms or sacking a massive number of people to boost their profits. Nothing that was happening outside mattered inside Brook’s walls.

Maybe it was because all politics had been strictly banned as a subject of conversation. And why would they have opened up, when most of those men were rivals one way or another? Spilling the beans in there could have been one of those unforgivable mistakes you could have read from headlines in the gossip magazines and tabloids in coming weeks. You didn’t need to be an oracle to know that they’d have tried to pin those fiascos on their rivals, even though the fault lay in the scantily-clad bimbos giggling in their laps, who weaned those secrets out for their master; my master: Damien McGriffin.

But those men, if they’d looked at me - and I swear they did - would never have guessed that I wasn’t just another escort, but wife of one of the oldest vampires in the Northern Hemisphere. And they had no reason to believe otherwise, when I laid down my glass and said, "Now, that is good. No, that’s a very good wine."

Thank you. Damien nodded his approval to the butler, who was patiently waiting next to his master. "I’m very glad you like it, because that one is really old stuff, my love. It’s a proper vintage, isn’t it, Arthur?"

That is correct, sir. Arthur said proudly. This Château De La Cour is one of the bottles the Templar order bottled at the end of the eighteen hundreds. He raised the bottle and studied the label for a moment. In eighteen eighty five to be precise.

Interesting year, Damien looked into my eyes. Wasn’t it?

Indeed, I answered. And not just because of all the historical facts, but because it was the first year we decided to go our own ways. As those words escaped from my painted lips, I sensed Arthur stiffening beside his master. Whether he was going to interrupt on behalf of his master didn’t matter, as Damien raised his hand and asked: Arthur, could you give us a bit of privacy? Please.

There was not even a hint of anger or pain in his voice, nor could I see any other feeling crossing his face. But when the butler had disappeared to oversee his staff, his lips parted to a whisper that escaped under the cacophony of laughter coming from a nearby table party.

Excuse me, I said. But I quite didn’t catch that…

I said, he began, but then he stopped and forced a smile upon his face. Nothing.

Is that so? I thought as I ran a finger round the rim of the wineglass. "Then what is so special, that made you decide to take that particular bottle from your cellar?"

Does it have to be something special?

I crossed my legs and leaned back. Of course it has to be special. Because I’d have expected you to impress one of them… I flicked my finger towards a pair of giggling blondes at the table of very loud-voiced fat cats. … rather than trying your wicked ways on me.

Ouch, Damien grimaced. "Am I really that bad?"

Oh yes. I smiled. Absolutely. No question about that.

I… He shook his head. It was almost as if Mister Big was regretting the scandalous behaviour that had lasted for over four hundred years. And he knew very well that I’d not forgotten the last time. Although, you could probably say that sort of thing shouldn’t really matter in a vampire relationship, because everything we do is, one way or another, predatory behaviour. But back in eighteen eighty five, I had had enough of his parties with other women.

Facts were facts. And even though it had been more than hundred and twenty years since we’d lived as husband and wife, our marriage was still valid in the eyes of God. And when it came to that subject, I could recite of the top of my head a number of verses that were directly related on the subject of monogamy.

To him, what I thought about my beloved Lord meant nothing. To him, the Lord Jesus didn’t exist, or that was the way he’d approached the subject after I’d thrown the woman through our bedroom window, literally. The only thing that really mattered to him was the will of the Fallen One, and according to him, the Master of the Dark Arts wanted the Damned corrupting God’s schemes any way they could.

I took another sip from the glass and then tipped it towards him as I asked: So?

I—

A scream silenced the room. I turned and saw an escort, mouth gaping open as if she was a proper scream queen, towering over a massive African man clutching his throat on the dining-room floor.

Damien jumped to his feet. Make room, he shouted, and waved his hand at the pale-looking waiters standing by the kitchen door: You two – move these people away. Arthur, call an ambulance!

Damien was already crossing the room when I finally got up and followed him, instead of heading straight out with the other patrons. Maybe I should have had done that, but I couldn’t. I’d more than enough expertise in these matters. However, Damien had completely forgotten that as he hovered over the African like a mother goose. He tried talking; loosening the black man’s tie and ripping his shirt open. But none of these managed to get any sort of reaction. It looked as though the man was nearing the thin red line that separated the living from the dead.

Damien. I squatted down. Let me.

Jane. Damien gripped my shoulder. Stay away from this!

Damien. I looked at him fiercely. Have you lost the last of your marbles and completely forgotten what I do these days?

For a moment or two he stared at me blankly, and then he moved his hand from my shoulder and said: Jane. I’m sorry. I didn’t—

I raised one hand to silence him, while I felt the African’s pulse. It was so weak. So barely functioning, but it was still there; nevertheless I couldn’t say the same thing about his ability to breathe. And there was the strange substance oozing out of his mouth.

I stuck two fingers in his mouth. At first, I couldn’t feel anything other than his teeth and the slippery tongue that felt burning hot to my touch. Then, suddenly, there it was, something hard and very solid at the back of his throat.

I turned to Damien and asked: Could you please help me to turn him over?

Sure, sure, Damien said. He took hold of the man’s jacket and pushed him onto his side. I rested his head against my knee and opened his mouth. Slap him hard on the back. And as Damien looked at me questioningly I added: Now, if you don’t mind.

Damien rolled his eyes and then slapped the black man’s back as if he was made of porcelain. Nothing happened. I gave Damien a nod and said: Do it again. And do it properly.

Jane...

Don’t ask, just do it, I said, and then added quietly: If you want to save his life.

Damien looked at me as if I’d gone mental, then he slammed his hand on black man’s back with all his might. Something flew out of his mouth. It bounced a couple of times on the carpet and then came to rest against a chair leg.

That’s a bone. Damien squinted. A bloody chicken bone. ARTHUR!

While he continued calling his butler, I focused my attention on the patient, as I couldn’t understand why he was still unconscious, even though we had removed the object blocking his airways. Was there something else wrong? Was it the foamy substance?

I brought some of to my nostrils only to find out that it didn’t smell strange, not even revolting, but more like an extraordinarily pleasing truffle-sauce that one of Damien’s chefs had whipped up in the kitchen.

Sir. Arthur ran back into the dining hall. The ambulance is on its way.

Good, Damien stood up and shoved his hand under Arthur’s nose. Now, can you tell me what this is?

It’s a bone sir, Arthur answered just as I noticed blue lights flashing at the windows. A chicken bone, to be precise.

Exactly, Damien spat out. "It was stuck in his throat for no apparent reason, and to be honest I cannot understand how it had got there, when I had given a specific order to remove all bones from..."

I closed my ears to Damien’s explosion of temper, as I realised that, over the years, he’d not changed in any way. In fact, I could swear that under all that pompous acting, he was still the same old bastard I’d left behind. And I wouldn’t be surprised if in fact the man on the floor had something to do with Damien’s organisation. And that really got me thinking why he’d asked me to be here in the first place, when the two paramedics pushed a gurney next to us. I turned my head and saw two familiar faces.

Jane, Robert said. What are you doing here?

That’s a good question, I answered. "A very good question indeed."

In the corner of my eye I saw Damien’s stance stiffening. He pulled Arthur and another of his men to one side as Jeff squatted beside me.

Right, Robert said as if my answer didn’t even matter anything to him. And why should it, when it was the patient’s life that mattered most. So, what’s the story?

A piece of chicken bone, I answered as Jeff pulled open the black man’s eyelid and flashed light into his eyes. But there must be something else as he’s not showing any sign of recovery.

Rob, Jeff said suddenly. He’s one of them.

One of what? I asked.

Are you sure? Robert looked at his partner questioningly.

Positive. Jeff nodded vehemently. He has all of the signs: murky eyes, laborious breathing and an almost non-existent pulse.

What about the fever?

Jeff touched the patient’s forehead with his surgical gloved hand and nodded.

Right. Robert dropped his bag and started to unfolding the gurney’s straps. Let’s bag him then and wheel him into the nearest A&E.

Guys. I lowered my voice. "What is going on?"

Jane. Jeff looked me in the eyes. The whole city has gone bat-shit crazy. And we don’t know what’s wrong, but I can tell you that he’s not the first one, and to be honest, I don’t think he’s going to be the last one either.

The last words came out as a whisper. A frightened whisper, to which I didn’t have time to react, as I heard a dull beep coming out from my handbag. And as I pulled out my pager Robert uttered under his breath: I bet a tenner they’re calling you in.

He was right. Absolutely so, as when I saw the 999 emergency code crossing my pager’s display I knew that something had gone terribly wrong. It was the first time I had seen them using it, so I had no other choice but to act. Where are you taking him?

Don’t know yet, Jeff answered. To yours I guess, as it’s the nearest.

Right, could I get a lift?

Jeff looked at Robert and then nodded, If that’s what you want?

I nodded, took my handbag and grabbed the side of the stretcher at the same time as they started to move. But I didn’t get far before Damien caught my sleeve and asked, Where do you think you are going?

To work, I snapped at him, Where else?

But we haven’t finished here—

Oh, I think we have, I said. I still don’t know what your reason for inviting me here was, but I’ve got work to do.

Jane, he sighed, while I saw relief spreading across Arthur's face. I had saved a man, but I couldn’t save my man, or find out what his real intentions were, whatever they might have been. So I blew Arthur a kiss and left Damien looking absolutely furious in front of his patrons.

*** Henrik ***

I dropped my pen and concluded: So, you didn’t know that the African man was one of the plague victims or that he was going to be zombified?

That’s right, she said. And if I had known he was going through necromorphosis, I would have put him down there and then. In hindsight, that’s what I should have done … among other things.

What about your husband?

What about him? Jane lit up another smoke.

Did he know?

I don’t know if he did but, judging by his behaviour, I suspect that he had no idea.

Even though you both are undead?

Jane went absolutely quiet for a moment. There was nothing in her face to indicate what she was thinking. What are you trying to say?

I... I began. I felt there was definitely something there that she wasn’t prepared to voice. "It’s just my suspicious nature nagging at me like an