Strain-V

“Jake – you’ve got it wrong – “ he said, but he could see none of them were going to believe or listen to him now. Those freaks had ruined it for him. His one refuge from loneliness. The family he craved. All gone.

“We’re going to drain you,” Jake said with deep, dark menace in his voice. “We’re going to drain you like we drained your scrawny, try-hard sister.”

Suddenly, a whirlwind of raw shock swept through him, it felt as though his stomach had been filled with boiling oil, his body was wrenched with surprise and pain. They had killed his sister. Poor Sophie had no doubt refused to join them, like him. The bitterness on Jake’s face was clear.

“Kill him,” Jake said coldly, and the henchmen closed in on him.

The girls moved away from him now, and he saw with horror that both Jessica and the redhead, whoever she was, had blood leaking from their evil grins. God damn. So what, was it true? Did these guys really drink blood? Were they really vampires with some weird kind of virus the government was trying to hush up?

He didn’t have time to deal with the questions now running round his mind. He didn’t feel strong enough to take these guys on now, and in that bedroom there was little space to do so either. He backed away, off the bed and towards the window, thanking God he’d kept his clothes on unlike the girls.

The window was his only way out now, and it was a risky one. As the Frat boys edged towards him – they were not taking a risk either, after what he had done to them that first night – he pulled the window, which had been open a crack, open further.

“You know, she squealed as we sucked her dry,” Jake said, driving a metaphorical knife between his ribs. “You know why you weren’t able to see her body when she was dead? Because she was a wrinkled old hag when we finished with her – she wasn’t recognisable – “

He slipped out the window and slid down the sloped roof, somehow, somehow reaching the ground without much of a bump, but everything inside him felt as though it had been torn apart. They had killed his sister. The bastards had –

But now was not the time for that. He would have to deal with that whole issue later, but now as the Frat boys were running through the building to get out to the street to catch him, it was time for a hasty exit. Though the sun was beginning to sink in the sky now, he was still too weak to fight. He needed to go, find somewhere safe, build up his strength before coming back to sort them out.

He ran, ran with all he had left, his whole body aching and stinging in physical and mental anguish. He knew what he had to do now, knew where to go. He ran to that strange rented house in the suburbs, not even looking back to make sure he wasn’t being followed. They wouldn’t follow them here.

The front door was unlocked, and he was extremely relieved to cross the threshold of the building. Bailey was in the front room, dressed casually in a skin-tight white t-shirt and short turquoise skirt. She got up immediately she saw him, realising instantly that something was up.

“Help me,” he said weakly, and collapsed.

Later, he knew that it was much later, he woke to find himself in bed. There was a drip feeding a clear fluid into his arm, which disturbed him slightly, but he told himself to trust them – he had no other option now. What they had told him – as unbelievable as it had sounded – seemed to have come true.

“It’s just saline,” he heard Bailey’s voice nearby.

Turning his head, he saw that she was sitting there at his bedside, and she was a real sight for an ill man to perceive. So beautiful – she quite took the breath away. Just the sight of her warmed him inside, making him feel a little stronger.

“What happened?” she asked him with real concern in her voice.

“They killed my sister,” he said. “They killed Sophie.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You knew?”

“Her death was what drew us here,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Miles.”

“How did it happen? Did they really… drain her?”

The blonde girl placed a hand on his chest, stroking him through the thin sheet to comfort him. She said: “Every time someone drinks blood, taking someone’s life force, it prematurely ages that person a little. They were feeding from you, weren’t they? Your hair is – “

“I think so. I didn’t realise,” he nodded, feeling a little stupid.

“You won’t feel it when they do it,” she said. “They’ve developed some kind of anaesthetic to their bites. You have a mark – here. “ she touched his throat, where what he had assumed to be a love bite was to be found.

“Am I – “ he said, and she knew what he was asking.

“You’ll be fine – you’ll recover fully with time. No, the worrying thing is that you seem to have the Strain-Five virus.”

“I do?”

“Did you come into contact with some of their blood? It can’t have been much – the infection is very slow.”

“It must have been that night – that night I first saw you. When I fought those… those morons… I tasted blood, I knew it wasn’t mine. Is there anything you can do?”

She smiled. “We can cure you. It’s no problem – it’s not at all like on TV, we’re not going to stake you,” she chuckled. Then suddenly Bailey’s face turned serious. “I have a confession to make,” she said.

“What? What is it?”

“That night, that night we first met?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m afraid I fed from you, too.”

Miles sat up with a jolt. The nightmare was continuing: it got worse and worse. These people were vampires too – he couldn’t trust anyone. What was she going to do now? Drain him while he was in this weakened state, suck him dry like his poor sister?

“You’re vampires?” he said, aghast.

“No, no,” she said quickly, realising that what she’d sat was fairly incriminating. “We’re not like the others,” she insisted. “We don’t drink blood, we don’t kill anyone, we don’t even harm them…”

But Miles found his head spinning. He tried to brush off the drip that was feeding him God-knew-what. Bailey was as deceptive as Jake – he had let her incredible beauty really get to him, her smouldering good looks had defeated his defences like nothing else –

“We’re Strain-Four, Mr Scott.” The voice was that of John Graham, the older man who seemingly led this inexplicable group. His voice had instant gravitas, provoked instant respect while also reassuring in the way a favourite grandfather’s might.

Entering the room now, dressed all in black, Graham said: “We have a similar virus to them, it’s true. We do need to feed from humans. But we’re Strain-Four, not Strain-Five. There’s precious few of us left these days, and those of us there are now feel responsible for keeping our irresponsible cousins from spiralling out of control.”

“Irresponsible?” Miles said with disgust. “You call sucking a young girl dry, draining her to death… you call that irresponsible?”

“No,” Graham sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the bed to Bailey, leaning back and letting out a deep breath. “No, I’m as disturbed as you are by it, Mr Scott. That is why we are here. We have investigated your sister’s death, we have identified those present…”

“Genius.”

“…The next step is to neutralise the threat to society, Mr Scott. I can assure you, we want as little harm done by these monsters as you do.”

“But apparently you’re a monster, too,” Miles was seriously indignant at all this.

“We don’t feed on blood, Mr Scott, let me repeat that.”

“So what do you feed on, sweat?”

“We feed from the emissions of the human sexual organs, Mr Scott. I can assure you, the donors are quite willing.”

Miles laughed – he couldn’t help it. This all sounded so ridiculous, so completely fanciful. “You can’t be serious! That’s ludicrous!”

“I can assure you, it’s true,” Graham did seem kind of serious. “Look. Let me explain. The virus – it’s called the vita anglorum virus – is extremely old, there’s recorded cases stretching back from the first recorded human history. The first three strains we know about seem to have disappeared over the millennia – there hasn’t been a reported sighting for centuries – we now know of two left. Strain-Four came first, though there’s not been enough study about it all yet. Strain-Five was some sort of mutation. So its effects are similar in a lot of ways, but also different in many.”

“So what’s the difference?” Miles was quiet now. He had to admit, listening to Graham was somehow comforting, and right now he was just glad he wasn’t being drained by the Fraternity.

“Well, I’m sorry we’re not real experts here, there is still much that is not yet fully understood even by ourselves. The virus – both strains – attack the human body at cellular level. The viral DNA attaches itself to the DNA in each human cell and corrupts it. It means that the body has a far enhanced regenerative ability – equally so in both strains, though it takes longer for Strain-Four sufferers to heal their wounds than Strain-Fives.

“The same effect also radically slows down the aging process – we’re not sure what the average life expectancy is, but it amounts to hundreds of years at least.”

“Nice,” said Miles. “So what about garlic – can you handle that?”

John Graham smiled and looked at Bailey, who was also smiling at that. “Some of the legends of vampires are not true,” the older man said. “Crucifixes too, have no meaning to either Strain-Fours or Fives, and we can be seen in mirrors just like anyone – or anything – else. Everyone has to obey the laws of physics, after all.”

“The stake through the heart?”

“Well, it’ll probably do most of us serious damage. We are human, you know, though we’re infected. Anything like that – decapitation, and so on – any serious trauma could kill us. The regeneration process cannot occur quite quickly enough to sort out things like that, you see. As an infected person gets older, of course, he or she gets stronger and may possibly get to the stage where they can cope with some things like that. But that would take a fair while, I would wager.”

“What about sunlight?” Miles asked. “When I had that Strain-Five inside me, it made me feel really sick going out in the sun…”

“The symptoms of both strains of the virus include some sensitivity to the sun,” Graham admitted. “We’re by no means as bad as Strain-Fives in sunlight, mind you, but we’re stronger in the dark – and they’re much stronger. The virus changes the skin cells, you see. Ultra-violet light is not good for us.”

“So wait,” Miles said. “How come you guys don’t drink blood, then?”

“It’s too strong,” it was Bailey that spoke now. “The human life force can be found in all fluids produced in the body, in varying levels. In the saliva and most other fluids there’s only a trace. But in sexual emissions, there’s much more – with especially high levels found around the time of an orgasm – “

Miles blushed at that, hearing this girl, who he had to admit he had a huge crush on, talking to freely about sex.

“ – and that’s perfect for us. Blood is very much more saturated by life force. We think it must be because it is the vital fluid of the body. But it’s too much for Strain-Fours.”

“It tends to rupture our blood vessels,” Graham added.

“But when you take from ‘donors’ or whatever you call the poor bums – they do feel weaker afterwards, don’t they?” Miles asked. “I mean, I had a great time with you that night, but I felt seriously light-headed afterwards – “

“It isn’t good to use the same donor more than twice in any six month period or so,” Graham nodded sagely. “But they recover, and we Strain-Fours are very strict about using a donor too often. Strain-Fives sometimes adhere to a similar code – certainly they do if they wish to avoid detection. But that strain of the virus corrupts absolutely, and far too often we find ourselves uncovering murderous Strain-Fives.”

It was a lot to take in, but as Graham came to a halt, the black guy – Paul Taylor – entered the room, dressed in his standard suit unlike the others, but carrying a meal tray. It was an odd combination.

“Hi, how you doing?” he asked Miles, and laid a meal of what appeared to be chicken soup and a bowl of ice cream on his lap.

“Hey, good – thanks.”

“No problem. Know how it feels – we all do.”

“So where do I go from here?” he said taking a sip of the hearty soup from the spoon Taylor had provided.

“Well, we’ll cure you, of course,” Graham said. “I’m afraid we’re obliged to do that whatever the score. Our task in life is to stop Strain-Five in all its forms, you see. Sadly, invariably we can only ever be alerted to it by newspaper and wire reports of extreme cases, where Strain-Fives turn really dangerous. But that is our responsibility.”

“You do work for the government, then?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You could say that, I suppose. You’ll not find us in any government directory, though. And even in the intelligence services very few people know anything about us.”

“So why are you telling me all this?”

“Why, because we want you to join us, Mr Scott,” he smiled warmly. “But that, of course, is up to you. Once you’re cured, you’re entirely free to go.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, we ask you to keep all this information from anyone, but to be honest nobody will believe you if you reveal it, so we’re not unduly worried.”

“Why me?”

“To be honest, Mr Scott, we’re impressed by your abilities. Tales of your single-handed combat proficiency returned to us from your night with Bailey, here. We – all of us – believe you might help us move in a new direction in our campaign against the Strain-Five. You see, so far our main weapon has been stealth and cunning – we try to capture them and treat them, but we are not very capable physically when pitted against them.”

“I see.”

“And what does joining you involve?” Miles asked.

“Well, I suppose you’d have to contract the Strain-Four virus,” Graham said, and Miles felt very wary of this. “You could work with us without it, of course. But to be honest, your shelf life would be far longer if you became like us. You’d be stronger, too, when we needed you to be.”

“Well, I don’t know… I’m not sure if willingly contracting a virus…”

“Of course, it’s a hard concept to accept, naturally.” Both Bailey and Graham now stood up. Graham said: “But look, have a rest, recuperate, recover, have a sleep – think about it. We’ll understand whatever you decide – either way.”

The three of them left him there, his head reeling, the thought process whirling through the cogs in his mind like nothing else he could ever have imagined. After the comforting soup and ice cream, however, his exhaustion led him to unavoidable and blissful sleep.

When he woke up, his wrist watch informed him that he had been asleep for over twenty-four hours. It was morning, but not that of the day after he had gone to sleep. The drip had been removed from his body now, and as he got up, he found that actually, he felt an awful lot better. Whatever they had given him had really done the trick. He was a little uncertain on his feet, but much, much better.

His thought process was still a little addled, however, although he did now know what his choice was to be. There was no other decision appropriate now, not with his sister having gone through what she did.

Quietly, he wondered downstairs, where the three of them were sitting in the front room, seemingly discussing him. They looked up and were quiet as soon as they saw him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

John Graham nodded, smiled even – something he seemingly did not do often, though not necessarily because he wasn’t a nice guy. But both Bailey and Taylor’s smiles were wholesome and clear. They stood up and there were approvals all round.

“Just promise me one thing,” Miles said.

“What?” Graham asked.

“Promise me that my sister will get the justice she deserves.”

“Of course,” Graham nodded again solemnly. “When you’re ready, that will be the first thing we sort out.”

“Great,” said Miles. “So when do we do this?”

“Well, now, if you’re ready,” Graham said. Then he turned to Bailey and said cryptically: “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

She nodded, though Miles thought he detected a hint of nervousness in her expression. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m in perfect shape for it.”

“Well just you be careful,” the older man insisted.

“Come with me,” Bailey told Miles, and he saw a little flame of something that might also have been excitement in her eyes.

“You done this before?” he asked her as she led him upstairs to one of the bedrooms – clearly hers for the duration of the group’s stay, since the wardrobe was full of her clothes, there was female underwear hanging over the armchair in the corner and a number of candles stood on the bedside table.

“No,” she said. “Never. It happens so rarely, you know? And actually, I’m not all that old – even if we do have this whole longevity thing going. I was only made a few years ago.”

“I would have thought you guys would have wanted more of you to go up against the Strain-Fives. I mean, they seem to spread their numbers fairly frequently…”

“It’s easier for them. It can be dangerous for us – there’s a risk I could die, you know.”

“Then why do you want to do this?” he asked her as she lit the candles.

“Because we need someone like you. Someone strong. We’ve never fought, you see. It would be a whole new direction for us. Our fight has always been by stealth. Besides, I… I guess I like you.”

“But I don’t want you to die – “ he said weakly.

“I won’t die,” she said reassuringly. “I’m physically fit at the moment, I’m not too old.”

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she said, as removed her jacket, so completely serious that he instantly understood the consequence of this decision.

"Yes," he said quietly, his eyes wide at her skin-tight t-shirt and short revealing skirt..

"You'll spend the rest of your life forced to feed on humans," she warned.

"I know. But they'd be giving it willingly, right?"

She smiled, closing and locking the door. "Most of them can't wait to give it up."

"So it's not like Strain Fives, is it?"

"They feed by stealth and by force. You have to when you need fresh blood."

"So how do we do this?" he said, his choice made. "How do you make someone Strain-IV?"

"Only females can pass on the virus - we're the carriers, you see, not the men. They - you can suffer from the virus, although I guess 'suffer' is a bad word for it. You don't really suffer. Not unless you haven't fed for a while."

"So how do you - "

"You have to feed from me," she said lustfully, and her panties dropped from under her skirt to her ankles.

Miles raised his eyebrows, and she grinned.

“When you feed, you only get life force from the person you’re feeding on when they orgasm,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “I think I can handle that.”

Bailey brought one of her fingers up to his mouth. It was wet, slick with her juices. He took her digit inside his hot mouth, tasting her. It had been a while since he had tasted the like, but he recognised the scent and flavour of female arousal. But the athletic blonde girl tasted different from what he remembered somehow. Sweeter – definitely sweeter – fuller, more creamy. Her juices seemed to fizz slightly on his tongue – he couldn’t quite describe it or explain it.

“You want some more?” Bailey said with a mischievous smile, perhaps knowing that he now craved more. She sat down on the corner of the nearest bed, parting her thighs slightly. “Down, boy,” she ordered him. It was clear what was going to be happening in the near future.

Kneeling down between her legs, his heart beat was pumping, as if along to the relentless beat of the dance music. The soft candlelight flickered on Bailey’s milky thighs as she pulled up the tiny skirt to reveal her beautifully moist pussy.