Blood Work Read Free Page A

there, tinged
different colours by the flashing lights.
    There were
several paths through to the exit and the aim of the game was to be
the first team to get there, while ‘killing’ as many of the
opposing team as you could. This already difficult task was further
hindered by loud music, flashing lights and sporadic bursts of
lasers. Shadows moved as if they were alive, drawing the eye and
quickening the pulse in a surge of adrenaline.
    I honestly
couldn’t understand why people did this for fun. But like Roberts
kept reminding me, they needed a bit of danger—even the utterly
bland sort of laser-tag—in their otherwise normal lives. Some
people pretended to shoot each other, others jumped out of planes
or swam with sharks. Nothing so tame for me. No. I got my kicks
hunting supernatural monsters.
    There were
three options in front of me. Right, left and straight ahead. When
I’d done my walk through, there had only been two, right and left.
In his panic, Barry had forgotten to tell me he’d changed the
layout, and to give me directions to the only exit.
    Making a
decision was taken out of my hands, though.
    A scream,
high, scared and definitely female, cut through the loud music. I
spun to the left, Eagle at the ready. All I saw was a smoky, narrow
corridor, fluorescent shapes painted on the walls glowing in the
intermittent light. Another scream, not as loud or forceful. She
was weakening, or being dragged further away from me.
    The door
crashed open behind me. Whirling, I pointed the gun, finger
tightening on the trigger even as I recognised Roberts barrelling
into the room. It was too late. The trigger depressed and the gun
bucked in my hand.
    Roberts
staggered backwards, dark fluid spraying across his chest. He hit
the door, slammed it shut, and slumped down in surprise as he
stared at me, mouth agape, reaching blindly for the sticky mess on
his shirt.
    “You shot me,”
he moaned, the whites of his eyes flaring for a moment as a blue
light flashed around us.
    I barely heard
him over the music, but I got enough to understand. “I wasted a
shot, yes,” I shouted back.
    He looked at
his hand, at the smear of liquid. “You shot me!” A faint whiff of
garlic rose from him.
    I waggled the
gun in front of his face. “Just be thankful it’s the replica Desert
Eagle paintball gun and not my Barretta. What are you doing in here
anyway?”
    “I came to
tell you we got all the kids out downstairs. Told them there was a
gas leak.” He got back to his feet, holding his jacket out to
display the mess of green paint on his silk shirt. “I didn’t come
up here to get a three hundred dollar shirt ruined!”
    Turning back
to the left corridor, I shouted, “Could have texted. You realise
you can’t leave the way you came in, don’t you?”
    There was a
moment of silence behind me, then furious rattling of the door.
    “Damn you,
Hawkins. I only came up because Barry was annoying the living crap
out of me, and now I’m trapped in here with you and a bunch of
blood sucking losers. And I don’t know who I’m more worried about,
them or you!”
    “I’d suggest
them.” I closed my eyes, listening for more screaming.
    “Yeah? They haven’t cost me three hundred bucks.”
    I ignored his
griping and concentrated.
    Successful
monster slaying isn’t accomplished through cool replica guns and
sweet cars. Sure, it helps to look hard-arse and committed, but the
majority of supernatural freaks aren’t just packing fangs and or
claws. Most come equipped with honest to God mental powers. Bend a
spoon, pick a card, any card, cluck like a duck type psychic
abilities. The only defence against such things is fire. As in,
fighting fire with fire.
    I focused on
the music. On the heavy base beat, the chaotic rhythm, the
undecipherable lyrics. It filled my head, suffused my body until it
was the only thing I knew. Then I blocked it out. Everything went
quiet. Without the pounding distraction of the music I could now
hear and feel