Author's Preface
Tucked away at the end of a quiet suburban lane stood a single-story American ranch-style home sprawling, unassuming, and completely shielded from the outside world.
A high, pristine white fence encircled the entire perimeter, but behind its clean exterior lay a fortress of heavy-duty reinforced steel and subterranean footings designed to withstand a breach. Subtle black domes housed night-vision 4K security cameras along the roofline, silently panning across the treeline, while thermal sensors embedded in the manicured lawn monitored every approach.
As the old Dodge rattled up the driveway, a hidden proximity sensor pinged. The heavy white automatic gate glided back with a low, mechanical hum, allowing the battered van onto the property before sliding shut behind them and locking into place with a heavy steel deadbolt.
Richard guided the Dodge toward the attached double garage. The motorized roller shutter swept upward instantly. He pulled the van into the dimly lit, concrete space, and the moment his rear bumper cleared the threshold, he slammed his hand onto the wall control.
The heavy steel shutter roared back down, sealing them inside the soundproof, bulletproof garage.
The clatter of the mechanism died away, leaving only the ticking of the cooling Dodge engine and the quiet hum of the property's security grid.
Over to you to take the next beat!
"Where are we?" Penny asked, wincing as she climbed out of the passenger side.
"Safehouse 114."
"114?"
"Yeah... anyway."
Richard led her through a heavy wooden door that opened into a surprisingly wide, open-concept living space. The layout was surprisingly clean and modern: to the left stood a fully equipped, stainless-steel kitchen, and to the right was a large, comfortably furnished living room.
"Two showers, one here," Richard pointed behind him toward the hallway bath, "and one off the master bedroom. There are clothes in the closets. Pick something practical, please... no crop tops or whatever."
"Erm, okay," she muttered, still looking around the pristine house in disbelief.
---
An hour later, Richard stood in the kitchen stirring a fresh pot of pasta. He'd showered away the blood and ash, now dressed in a simple white tee and grey joggers.
Penny walked out into the kitchen wearing the exact same setup baggy grey joggers and a plain white tee, her hair damp.
"Ooh, foo-"
CLACK-CLACK.
Richard cut her off with the sharp, thunderous rack of the 12-gauge shotgun, leveling the barrel dead-center on her chest.
Penny instinctively threw her hands into the air, freezing mid-step. "Richard, what the fuck?!"
"Sorry, Pen. I know you said you weren't bitten, but they can infect you in all sorts of ways. Saliva can carry the venom. In sufficient quantities, it can be... let's say life-changing."
"I swear to God I haven't been infected!" she yelled, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
"And if you haven't, I'll apologize," Richard said, his voice flat and unyielding. "But you were down in that vault alone for a good twenty minutes."
"So. You was alone too!"
"I had Tom."
"That doesn't mean-"
"Follow me," Richard ordered, gesturing with the muzzle of the shotgun toward the hallway.
He led her back into the bedroom she'd just stepped out of, but the ceiling had been completely retracted, leaving only a thick glass skylight overhead.
"In one hour, the sun will be directly above us," Richard said, his voice quiet but absolute. "If you turn, you burn. If you live... well, then we talk."
Penny stared up at the exposed sky, her mouth agape. "You're fucking insane."
"I did tell you that when we recruited you," Richard replied, offering a faint, weary attempt at a reassuring smile. He pointed toward a small fridge in the corner.
"There's food in the cooler and plenty of water. Please don't take this personally, Pen. I genuinely hope to see you in two hours. Try and get some sleep."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the hallway and pulled the heavy steel-reinforced door shut, the heavy electronic deadbolts clicking into place with a cold, final thud.
---
Richard stirred on the couch as his CASIO emitted a small, repeating trill.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He groaned, blinking at the television. He'd fallen asleep watching the news, the 12-gauge shotgun still resting across his lap, one hand loosely gripping the stock.
For a few seconds, he couldn't remember where he was.
Then it came back.
The priory. The blood. Tom.
Richard sat forward, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes flicked to the watch.
He'd been asleep longer than he'd intended.
On the television, a familiar image filled the screen: the ruined arches of St Jude's Abbey, surrounded by police vehicles and emergency service crews. Blue lights flashed against the grey morning sky as reporters stood behind the cordon.
"Breaking news this morning. Emergency services investigating the collapse at St Jude's Abbey have recovered an unidentified body from the rubble. Police have yet to confirm the individual's identity, and the circumstances surrounding the incident remain unclear."
Richard stopped rubbing his face.
He stared at the screen.
An unidentified body.
His jaw tightened as footage showed firefighters moving a stretcher towards an ambulance, the shape beneath the white covering indistinct.
"Authorities have not ruled out further casualties. Anyone with information is asked to contact-"
Richard pressed the remote, snapping the screen to black before the news anchor could finish reading the tip-line number. Rubbing the palm of his hand on his face, brushing away the invisible hold of sleep.
The quiet hum of the house rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating.
He stood up slowly, the shotgun heavy in his right hand, and checked his CASIO once more.
Two hours and fourteen minutes. Shit.
Adrenaline spiked through his chest, sharp and cold, instantly washing away the last remnants of sleep. He had given her an hour. If the venom had taken hold if the sky had already shifted into that putrid, sulfur-yellow glaze outside the sunlight streaming through that ceiling would have triggered the reaction long ago.
He walked down the hallway with silent, deliberate steps. Stopping outside the heavy reinforced door, he leaned his ear against the cold frame.
Nothing. No thumping, no raspy breathing, no shrieks of agony.
Richard keyed the code into the wall unit. The electronic deadbolts retracted with a heavy clack-clack, and he pushed the door open just wide enough to clear the frame, shotgun held low at his hip.
Sunlight poured through the overhead glass panel, casting a wide beam of blinding white across the center of the room.
Penny was curled up on her side at the very edge of the bed, fast asleep. The blanket was pulled up to her chin, her breathing deep and even. Outside the glass, the sky directly above the safehouse was still a clear, pale blue, but off to the east, a faint, sickly mustard haze was creeping across the horizon. Time was running out for everyone.
Richard lowered the barrel of the 12-gauge and let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since the priory.
---
Penny emerged a few hours later, her brown hair usually brushed neat and tied back in a ponytail hanging loose and frazzled around her shoulders.
"I passed, I guess," she said, letting out a long yawn.
"Yeah. With flying colors," Richard replied, his voice softening slightly. "Sorry."
"You should be. I told you I was telling the truth."
She crossed the room and propped herself up on a stool at the breakfast bar. Richard slid a freshly warmed plate of pasta across the smooth counter toward her.
"Eat up, kid. We don't get time to mourn. Or rest."
Penny didn't argue. She dug in hungrily, shoveling a forkful into her mouth. "W-umph-are... yom... them?" she asked around a mouthful of food, pointing her fork toward a neat pile of heavy gear and dark clothing laid out across the living room couch.
"That's what you need to get into for tonight," Richard said flatly.
She swallowed hard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Into? Into where?"
Richard looked up, his eyes cold and focused. "The Lakeside Glasshouse the home of this districts Syndicate."
---
Penny walked back out into the living room, smoothing down the open front of the dark brown suede fringe jacket. Beneath it, she wore a cropped, form-fitting black tank top that cut high on her ribcage, paired with low-slung, distressed denim shorts that left most of her legs bare.
She crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing Richard with a flat, incredulous look.
"Why do these clothes make me look like an 80s porn star?" she asked.
Richard didn't even look up from the counter where he was systematically loading shells into a tactical belt.
"Because whoever prepped Safehouse 114 before us had peculiar taste," he said deadpan. "Keep the jacket zipped if you get cold. The suede is thick enough to stop a shallow scrap."
"Right. Very practical," Penny muttered, rolling her eyes as she pulled the front of the jacket together. "So, what are we actually going into Lakeside for?"
Richard didn't answer. He just stared at her for a beat, his expression unreadable, before flicking his wrist and throwing the heavy brass seal back at her.
Penny caught it against her chest with a quiet clack, her fingers curling around the cold metal. It was a thick, solid brass seal, heavy as a paperweight stamped with the sharp, unmistakable emblem of a pair of vampire teeth.
"Do you like dancing?" he asked.
---
The Dodge grumbled down the quiet suburban lane as the heavy white gate swung shut behind them, sealing Safehouse 114 back into its immaculate shell.
Richard kept his hands firm on the wheel, steering the battered van out toward the main thoroughfares. Beside him, Penny tugged at the lapels of the suede fringe jacket, her bare legs drawn up slightly against the cool air pulsing from the Dodge's dashboard vents.
As they crossed the bridge over the bypass, the scenery shifted dramatically. Gone were the modest, uniform ranches. The road wound upward into the grand, gated enclaves of Lakeside the city's premier wealthy pocket, built into the high bluffs overlooking the valley reservoir.
"Must be nice," Penny muttered, gazing out of the passenger window.
Massive, modern architectural mansions sat nestled behind manicured stone retaining walls, high wrought-iron gates, and towering pine trees. Floor-to-ceiling glass facades reflected the increasingly bizarre sky overhead a pale, bruised yellow haze creeping steadily across the sun, casting long, jaundiced shadows over pristine asphalt driveways and parked luxury sports cars left abandoned in mid-evacuation.
"Don't get attached," Richard said, keeping his eyes glued to the winding road. "Wealth just means bigger windows to break."
The road began to descend toward the water's edge, curving alongside the massive, brutalist concrete wall of the hydroelectric dam. The spillway towered above the neighborhood like a grey titan, holding back millions of gallons of dark reservoir water. Power lines hummed overhead in a low, constant vibration that echoed inside the cab of the van.
At the foot of the dam, where the reservoir stretched out into shadow, stood Lakeside Emporium.
What had once been an exclusive, glass-domed waterfront shopping complex was now eerily quiet. Its high-end boutiques and waterfront restaurants sat dark behind reinforced security shutters, nestled directly against the colossal base of the concrete dam wall.
Richard pulled the Dodge into the tree-lined shade of an abandoned parking ramp overlooking the complex and cut the engine.
"There it is," he said quietly, reaching for his shotgun. "Lakeside Glasshouse."
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