The light of the full moon shone in through the window at the end of the hallway as Henry knocked on the door to his flat for the second time. Just like before, no response came from within. He could hear them shuffling around inside, but at this point he’d been left waiting at the door by whoever was inside for a solid minute.
The fluorescent light in the ceiling sputtered occasionally as his foot tapped against the thinly carpeted linoleum. Glancing down to check his watch, he paused momentarily when he noticed the hour hand placed the time at just before 3AM. The mere sight of it was enough to make a wave of sleepiness wash over him.
As much as he wanted to just go to his room and lie down, however, it was becoming more obvious by the second that whatever squatter had taken over his residence was hellbent on stonewalling him.
Henry let out a weary sigh as he ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Head bent down toward the floor as he massaged his scalp, he took a moment to think about just how he was going to deal with yet another fiasco on top of the pile he already had on his plate.
After the last few days, it was well beyond where he was running himself ragged. His wrinkled white dress shirt already sported several tatters on the sleeves. The top of his collar sagged slightly, having no top button with which to keep it in place. The knot of his tie, while it had once been snugly affixed, had found itself becoming looser and looser with each re-tie in the past month. At the start, he’d tried to maintain it properly as a good habit, but reality had had a way of wearing him down over time.
Nowadays, he just let it hang looped around the back of his neck, untied entirely. It looked about the same way he felt – barely hanging on.
The rest of his attire wasn’t faring much better. The soles of his shoes were almost completely worn out by now, and the battered satchel he carried most of his belongings in these days technically wasn’t even his. Heavy eye bags lined his face, and his mess of short, raven-black bedhead – which he could only barely keep in check in the best of times – was now in dire need of taming.
He felt like dirt and grime caked him from head to toe, and the odd smear of ashy dust staining his shirt only added weight to that theory. The edges of his vision blurred slightly as he spaced out in front of the door, forcing him to shake himself back awake for a moment longer.
He really needed to take a rest. Preferably somewhere comfortable.
Mulling over his options, he scratched his head as he considered that he should perhaps find somewhere else to sleep for the night. He’d certainly been spending his fair share of time making use of the multitudes of dark corners and alleyways that dotted the landscape these days. Most of which fell somewhere between ‘not intended for residential use’ and ‘not intended for humans, period’. Finding somewhere else to crash would not be out of the realm of possibility.
He shook his head in contempt for such desperate thinking. The mere thought of spending another night asleep on the foggy streets of Greenwich was enough for him to shudder involuntarily. For once, he wanted to take the chance to sleep on a proper mattress again.
With a sharp exhale, he lightly slapped the sides of his face, in an effort to both encourage himself enough to try one last time, and to stay awake just a little while longer. A victory, even a small one such as this, very well might be just what he needed to get himself out of his current funk. Passing it up now was just asking for more trouble down the road, surely.
Taking a deep breath, he knocked for a third and final time as he called out to the unexpected resident of his home.
“…Mate, I know you’re in there…” Henry began.
“I know it’s been a while since I’ve taken care of the place, but this is still technically my flat, and I’ve got me the keys to it right here. I’ll be coming in shortly whether you want me to or not…”
No response came from the other end, but the sudden silence made him think that he was at least listening to Henry’s words. At least, he was hoping that that was the case…
Regardless, he intended to make good on his little threat. Digging around in the bottom of his bag, Henry palmed past an odd assortment of essentials as he searched for his ages-abandoned keys. Rolls of bandages, his old mobile phone, and the outline of a handheld radio could be made out from his random grasping, before his fingers managed to wrap around the old key ring.
It lay deep down at the bottom of the satchel due to months of disuse. Any locks they might open had been far beyond his reach for months now, leading to their near abandonment. Frankly, it was a miracle he hadn’t managed to lose them yet, and he silently praised the foresight he’d held in keeping them.
As he was about to fish it out, however, the commotion from the other side of the door caught his attention once again.
A rumbling sound echoed out from behind the doorway, similar to cracking knuckles, but… slower. Deeper in pitch, as well as being significantly louder. It immediately set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.
Recognition crawled up from the depths of his sleep-deprived brain, the adrenaline pumping him back to a state of wakefulness. It wasn’t a noise that Henry heard often during his handful of months surviving on the move… But it wasn’t one he was soon to forget, either.
He’d gotten all too familiar with it in the long hours of crawling about the crumbling ruins that used to be the innermost boroughs of London. There wasn’t anything quite like imminent danger to sharpen your memory, it turned out. All mental blockades could be bypassed when a situation screamed get away.
“Great…”, he intoned under his breath.
He dropped the keys back into the satchel, letting it fall to his side.
With both hands free, he reached an arm behind his back to get out ahead of the problem that was bound to be arriving any moment now.
On the plus side, he was most definitely no longer dealing with just another jumpy remnant of society like himself. Putting two people like that in the same room was just asking for disaster – especially since nowadays everyone stayed armed out of sheer necessity. It meant that most of the more unpredictable outcomes were off the table, which was at least a partial relief.
Unfortunately, simpler didn’t usually mean easier. He needed to be one hundred percent ready for what he was about to face.
His hand found the grip of the snub-nose revolver he’d been able to loot a week earlier, and in one fluid motion he pulled the cold steel from the back of his waistband to check the cylinder.
Superstition made him consider that finding this particular piece of choice treasure was the reason he was so down on his luck recently – he spent it all when he’d found it abandoned in the back of what used to be the local police station. No idea why it had yet to be picked over by the other scavengers in the area… but looking gift horses in the mouth and all that.
It was a bit of a pea shooter, certainly. Not to mention it looked like it was pieced together from a handful of second-hand parts. But the potential advantage it offered, he decided, was too much to pass on, leading him to pay out the nose from his own personal stashes in order to get it inlaid with some half-decent enchantments.
Despite usually opting for other weapons in sticky situations, the few times where the magically accelerated projectiles were indeed necessary had proved to him to be more than enough to make up for the weapon’s hefty sunk cost and other in-built shortcomings.
What they didn’t make up for, unfortunately, was his rapidly dwindling ammo supply. Already, one of the rounds in the cylinder was just spent casing, which he hadn’t thought to remove up until that moment. All the bullets he had on hand for the weapon was already resting inside, leaving him with only five chances maximum to handle the situation.
Preferably, he’d like to save a few for a rainy day.
Guess that means another day of using my oldest trick in the book, then, he posited.
Quickly snapping the pistol shut, he quickly glanced around the hallway in search of a place to stash it. Piles of debris were in no short supply here, but the main kicker was he wanted one that was as close to arm’s reach as possible. A few good options were available, leading him to opt for the first one his gaze landed on.
Despite the wasteland Greenwich had become, his rapid search caused him to note that the building really hadn’t changed all that much. More or less, it still was the same filthy rat nest that he remembered growing up in. Henry chuckled under his breath at the thought that even the end of the world couldn’t make this dump any worse than it already was.
Standing up to take a look at his handiwork, he ensured that the weapon wasn’t visible from beneath the trash bag he used to obscure it. The garbage both looked – and more importantly, smelled – like it hadn’t been touched since the first Witching Hour. Which, considering the death toll estimates that were floating around survivor circles concerning those first few days… was probably exactly what had happened.
He made a mental note to check to see if the taps were still working in the shower. He had about 50/50 odds that he’d be able to wash up later, he reckoned.
As he was about to reach for his keys again and unlock the front door, the resident squatter finally decided to show his face. Kind of.
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A baggy jacket hung loosely over his frame, the hood pulled up and well over his face to the point it was bordering on comical. His attire had gathered a similar amount of grime to his own, and for the briefest of moments they just stood staring at each other, waiting in turn for the other person to make the first move.
“Reight, what ye want, annaewae?”, the squatter eventually caved, speaking in a thick Glaswegian accent.
Henry blinked as the wheels in his head spun briefly, working overtime to catch up with his ears. Sheepishly, he launched into an alibi that probably came off about as nervous as he felt whenever he tried to pull this stunt.
“Sorry to bother you at… well, technically at this late hour… but I reckon none of us have been sleeping well these days, have we… I just wanted to, ah… pick up a few personal belongings I left behind before… you know…”
Henry jerked his head towards the hallway window, indicating the situation outside. Thick waves of fog rolled through the streets below as the full moon loomed overhead. The gloom cast a faint, slightly greenish tint on the world below, eerie shadows dancing around as the mist above drifted over the city. A wolf howled in the distance, as if to emphasize his point.
It wasn’t exactly novel scenery for London – aside from the werewolves, of course – but when you factored in the perpetual absence of the sun that had blanketed the streets since the very first day, along with the wall of ultra dense fog that enclosed them all within a handful of boroughs… He could readily admit that it only added to the already bleak atmosphere. It hadn’t taken long for the name ‘Hallow London’ to skyrocket in popularity among the first waves of survivors.
His words hung in the air as the hooded man continued to stare at him. Naturally, he was brazenly lying about his intentions. While he had his fingers crossed he wouldn’t be called out on it, being unable to see the man’s facial expression wasn’t exactly doing much to calm his nerves.
He did his best to keep his face blank under scrutiny. The moments seemed to bleed into each other as they passed, blending together into a single continuous sludge in his mind.
Fortunately, his continued stoicism in the face of scrutiny proved convincing enough. The other man shifted his weight slightly, the slight movement proving enough to break the trance between them. He let the reasoning slide, shifting his focus instead to other questions.
“Aye, tha’s feer, ah s’pose,” came his garbled response. “Jes’ ta be sure though, ye’re not onnae them mage-types that’wha heed some sart’a Domeen tricks, are ye?”
“Sorry?”, Henry replied, his brain glitching slightly as he tried to parse the thick accent through his lack of sleep. It took longer than he wanted to admit to piece together, and the other man probably could imagine the gears turning in his head as he did so.
“Oh, you’re asking if I have any talent or training in a Domain of magic?”
“Aye,” the man confirmed.
“Oh, no, I was never lucky enough for a Ghost of Tolkien experience… and I never made it past the entrance exam for training, either…”
“Reight, well… I have a bit o’ trouble b’lieven that, on account of the quaer-lookin’ shiny rock you got stickin’ oot next ta yer neck thaere, mate.”
“Oh, that?” Henry peered down at the elephant in the room, a chunk of faintly glowing crystal embedded between his collarbone and his heart. The angular wedge of foreign material pierced a hole through the front of his dress shirt, leaving a neat tear that wrapped around the edges of its surface.
“Nah, that’s… well, some sort of Domain caused that, but I’ve no idea what exactly. Had a narrow escape with some frankly bizarre curse region over in East Hammersmith, not too long ago. Left me stuck with this unsightly reminder to keep both eyes open. Got no idea what its doing… but I’m frankly scared to get rid of it at this point.”
Henry tended to ramble when he lied. Of all the things his life had made him recently, a smooth talker ranked notably high on that list, for a certain definition of the term. Despite multiple tells that he had yet to shake, he’d had enough practice to at least make passable stories up on the spot.
Though, being perfectly honest, the truth likely would have taken longer to explain. Not to mention making entirely less sense.
“So it is some kinnae magic bullshet, theen? Ye part of them Devil’s Dozen gits?”
“What? No! Why would I drag myself back to a dump like this if I could do even half of what they’re capable of?! Do you see me looking to tear a squad of Landed Knights apart with my bare hands?!”
“S’alright, mate, ah was jes’ testin ye…”
The squatter backed off with his line of questioning, stepping to the side and gesturing for Henry to enter. “Wael, if yer just here ta pick up sommae yer things,” he concluded, “Don’t see why I cannae let ye in fer a quick spell.”
Henry gave a weak smile, brushing past him on his way in. He’d managed to get past the first – and easiest – step of his deception. Now came the part he’d never been a fan of.
Playing the bait.
He kept a wary eye on the other man as he entered his old apartment. Similarly, the squatter never took his eyes off of Henry, following behind at a close but respectable distance of a few paces. Outside of the major encampments, it was just common practice. When everything else was out to kill you, it paid to be wary of what might backstab you later.
Walking over to a dusty shelf in the main room, he picked up a picture frame lying on its face near the window. He wiped it down with his sleeve, taking a moment to admire the moment it captured from long ago.
A picture of a family anniversary, which his childhood friend had invited him to when they were much younger. She was waving into the camera, her parents standing behind them both as they all smiled for the group photo.
He looked so shy in that picture, he thought. He’d only lived with them for a few years, when they had taken him in after he’d been kicked out onto the once bustling streets by his old orphanage, but they both had considered him as part of their own family. When he found his feet and started living in a place of his own, they still had regularly kept in touch with one another.
Better times. Not many of them left, now.
Smiling fondly at the memory, he tucked the photo into his bag, glad that it had survived long enough for him to find it again.
“Right, I’ll be quick then,” Henry called over his shoulder as he pointed towards the bedroom. “Just one more thing in the closet I’m looking for, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Wait, don’t ye look in there-”
“What? Why not?”, he asked, continuing to make his way into his room regardless in an effort to antagonize the man.
“Tha’s where ah keep mah smack, ye daft c-”
“So what? You can keep your drugs, I don’t want anything to do with them anywa-”
As he opened the doors to the bedroom closet wide open, he was forced to jump back when the poorly balanced corpse stuffed inside fell to the floor.
Henry wasted no time reaching for the combat knife strapped to his hip, as the gaze of the drained corpse stared back up at him. Two red, swollen puncture marks marred its neck, the rest of his skin a shade of deathly pale white.
Wasting no time, he dove to the ground at its side, fingernails sharpened to fine points swiping through the space where his head had been just moments earlier.
He rolled away from both his assailant and the corpse, then spun back onto his knees near the base of his old bed, knife raised in a ready stance as he panted heavily from the sudden exertion. The creature that attacked him was already in the process of abandoning its squatter disguise, offering an increasingly narrow window of opportunity that Henry needed to capitalize on before it ran out.
The hood fell from its face, revealing the hideous visage hidden beneath. The telltale pale, gaunt features of a vampire locked onto him as he got of his knees. Its beady black eyes reminded him of a shark’s, and the mouthful of jagged teeth only served to add to the comparison. The pointed ears jutting out from its head might have allowed it to pass as an elf, once… if you were legally blind and looking the other way.
The deep, knuckle cracking noise from before announced its presence once again, as the creature shed the humanoid proportions it had been making use of. Not all vampires opted to use the stealthier tools their powers provided, but they were a large part of why they could lay claim to the title of premier ambush predator in all of Hallow London. Getting a first strike in typically was the only one you needed when you hit with more force than a harpoon gun.
The disguise, however, did limit the upper ceiling of their stopping power… until they decided to shed it. Something that would complete in a scant few moments if Henry didn’t take advantage of the time it needed to reknit its bone structure.
Without a second thought, he charged past the beast, making sure to take an opportunistic swipe at it before barreling out into the less cluttered main room. The mundane steel of the knife scraped along the creature’s ribcage, leaving little more than a superficial cut as he passed. All he really managed in the effort was to make it angrier.
As soon as he was past, he whipped around to keep it in his line of sight. His weight shifted as he prepared for the inevitable countercharge, adjusting his grip on the knife as he licked his lips in concentration. Sweat poured down Henry’s brow as he crouched low, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to anticipate the vampire’s next move.
The vampire wasted no time on springing into action, either. Fibrous tendons coiled beneath the surface of its skin in for less than a split second, before releasing that potential energy in an instant to pounce straight at him. The force of the flying leap was enough to shred the remainder of its disguise, the cloth of the hoodie tearing itself to scraps in its wake.
Henry was forced to give ground to avoid a fast yet painful death, his back pressing up against the large window that overlooked the ruined streets below.
This was it. He was either going to pull it off now, or die trying. He gripped the knife close in to his sternum in a defensive stance, his off-hand making a pointing motion as the crystal above his heart began to shine with a radiant intensity.
Jabbing his finger towards the vampire, he mimicked pulling a trigger, a silent bang escaping his lips as he completed the motion. A brief flash emanated from the crystal, before dimming back down to its original luminosity.
The vampire recoiled in an effort to dodge whatever magic had been cast at it. Judging by where he had pointed, it had appeared like he’d nailed the creature dead on with the attack. However, no visible effect made itself known. It led to quite the confusion on the vampire’s part, as it took a moment to visually inspect for damage.
“Ssstupid human,” it spat at Henry after confirming it had not actually been hurt. Black spittle dribbled in its mouth, staining its teeth and exposed gums an ugly dark shade. “You think your petty bluff enough to ssstop me?”
Henry leaned forward further in his low crouch, imitating his stance from his lunge earlier. “No,” he readily admitted.
Having safely placed himself out of the line of fire, Henry’s simulacrum took the shot he’d lined up with the previously stashed revolver.
The ear-splitting din of a mana-fueled chunk of lead thundered through confined space of the apartment, tearing a cork sized hole through the vampire’s face as it punched through the air with unrelenting fury. Exiting out through the vampire’s eye socket barely slowed it down. Spiderweb cracks etched into the window glass behind him as it sped past unabated, and the body of the vampire slumped to the ground, unmoving.
He wiped a splash of blood off his cheek with the back of his hand. Faint tinnitus echoed in his ears from the blast, a nuisance that he tolerated on account of his copy definitely having a much worse time of it.
“No…” Henry repeated. “…But making a clone with a gun does a better job in the end, I think.”
He rose from his crouched position, stretching deeply as he stood straight once again. He gave a thankful nod to his doppelganger in the doorway, who holstered the pistol and set about securing the entryway. The satchel was passed off to the magical clone as well, as Henry figured he’d have his hands full with disposing the body soon enough.
He sighed as he mentally tallied the laundry list of issues to address before he could get a proper night’s rest.
“God, I miss the days before this whole mess started,” he muttered to nobody in particular.
He certainly wouldn’t turn down his days becoming both simpler and easier anymore, like they had been before the Witching Hours. Even if he had been a bit of a mopey layabout those days.
Well, to be fair, he was still a mopey layabout sometimes, but at least he was self aware about it now. Always got to be looking out for the silver lining in things, after all.
