ambulances—”
“Which way?”
“There.” Their unwitting informant points along the corridor, past curtained-off bays and an empty stretcher. “Turn left past the crash cart, through the double doors, third on your right.”
“Thanks. Forget we were here.” Janice hauls Evan along behind her, hurrying to clear the area lest a real emergency blow in, trailing too many medics and relatives and police officers to subdue by force of will alone.
“Now what?” mutters Evan.
“We ask more questions. Let’s see, we’re looking for the blood transfusion duty registrar. They’ll be on-call and the internal phone book will take us to them. They’ll know where the blood components are stored; probably a special refrigerator in a hematology lab, but there’ll be supplies close to A&E.”
“Where did you figure that out from? Did you work in a hospital before—”
“I used Google. Duh.”
Badges, clipboards, and self-confidence will get you past the human gatekeepers in a hospital, but they won’t help you with the combination locks on the doors. But if you have a vampire’s talent for convincing people that they want to help you, you can move around relatively easily: just wait for someone to come along, then get them to invite you in. Over the next twenty minutes Evan and Janice inveigle themselves into the hematology lab, and corner the duty hematology technician: forty-ish, maternal-looking, and very surprised to see them standing in the doorway to the lab office.
“We’re here to do a spot-check on the blood fridge,” Janice announces forbiddingly. Evan, standing behind her, holds his clipboard before him like a weapon. “We are auditing supply levels and expiration compliance throughout the primary care trust, and we’ve been tasked with making spot-checks on hematology services to monitor wastage. Where’s your supply manifest? We need to do a stocktake against it.”
The tech looks surprised. “Can I see your ID, please?” she asks. “Nobody told me to expect—”
“Here’s my ID,” Janice says, holding the faked-up laminated badge. “You will recognize this as valid. There’s no need to confirm it with management.
Everything is in order.
”
“Yeah, baby.” Evan leers over her shoulder.
“Supplies.” The technician shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“Plasma. Platelets. Whole blood to hand for transfusion.”
The technician frowns. “Whole blood? Someone’s misinformed you. There’s a single unit of screened O negative blood in the blood fridge by Theatre One, strictly for emergencies, and about six units of various types in the Resuscitation Ward on A&E, but we don’t handle bulk supplies here; we handle immunohematology testing and order in supplies from the blood bank on a per-patient basis, as needed. And if they don’t have enough, there’s a blue light taxi service from the nearest NHSBT center. We don’t just keep units of whole blood hanging around unused! The stuff’s too valuable, and it has a short shelf life—”
“You’re telling me you run a fractional reserve blood bank?”
“What?” The technician is perplexed by Janice’s incredulity. “But you can’t possibly imagine that—”
“Leave her,” Evan suggests.
The hematologist shakes her head and blinks at them, leaning away. “Let me see your badges again. Who did you say you were from?”
The mind control thing clearly isn’t working too well. Janice sighs, leans nose to nose with the woman, and slams the full force of her willpower into her: “Get a syringe and draw a sample from your left arm. I am a vampire and I
vant
to suck your
blood
.”
• • •
“WAS THAT STRICTLY NECESSARY?”
“Shut up and drink.”
“Prosit. Pro—oh.” (Pause.) “Oh!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oh.”
“You’re disgusting.” (Pause.) “Please tell me you haven’t wet yourself.”
“N-no. Bitch.” (Pause.) “Look, there’s a drop left in the tube, I can’t lick it
“Which way?”
“There.” Their unwitting informant points along the corridor, past curtained-off bays and an empty stretcher. “Turn left past the crash cart, through the double doors, third on your right.”
“Thanks. Forget we were here.” Janice hauls Evan along behind her, hurrying to clear the area lest a real emergency blow in, trailing too many medics and relatives and police officers to subdue by force of will alone.
“Now what?” mutters Evan.
“We ask more questions. Let’s see, we’re looking for the blood transfusion duty registrar. They’ll be on-call and the internal phone book will take us to them. They’ll know where the blood components are stored; probably a special refrigerator in a hematology lab, but there’ll be supplies close to A&E.”
“Where did you figure that out from? Did you work in a hospital before—”
“I used Google. Duh.”
Badges, clipboards, and self-confidence will get you past the human gatekeepers in a hospital, but they won’t help you with the combination locks on the doors. But if you have a vampire’s talent for convincing people that they want to help you, you can move around relatively easily: just wait for someone to come along, then get them to invite you in. Over the next twenty minutes Evan and Janice inveigle themselves into the hematology lab, and corner the duty hematology technician: forty-ish, maternal-looking, and very surprised to see them standing in the doorway to the lab office.
“We’re here to do a spot-check on the blood fridge,” Janice announces forbiddingly. Evan, standing behind her, holds his clipboard before him like a weapon. “We are auditing supply levels and expiration compliance throughout the primary care trust, and we’ve been tasked with making spot-checks on hematology services to monitor wastage. Where’s your supply manifest? We need to do a stocktake against it.”
The tech looks surprised. “Can I see your ID, please?” she asks. “Nobody told me to expect—”
“Here’s my ID,” Janice says, holding the faked-up laminated badge. “You will recognize this as valid. There’s no need to confirm it with management.
Everything is in order.
”
“Yeah, baby.” Evan leers over her shoulder.
“Supplies.” The technician shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“Plasma. Platelets. Whole blood to hand for transfusion.”
The technician frowns. “Whole blood? Someone’s misinformed you. There’s a single unit of screened O negative blood in the blood fridge by Theatre One, strictly for emergencies, and about six units of various types in the Resuscitation Ward on A&E, but we don’t handle bulk supplies here; we handle immunohematology testing and order in supplies from the blood bank on a per-patient basis, as needed. And if they don’t have enough, there’s a blue light taxi service from the nearest NHSBT center. We don’t just keep units of whole blood hanging around unused! The stuff’s too valuable, and it has a short shelf life—”
“You’re telling me you run a fractional reserve blood bank?”
“What?” The technician is perplexed by Janice’s incredulity. “But you can’t possibly imagine that—”
“Leave her,” Evan suggests.
The hematologist shakes her head and blinks at them, leaning away. “Let me see your badges again. Who did you say you were from?”
The mind control thing clearly isn’t working too well. Janice sighs, leans nose to nose with the woman, and slams the full force of her willpower into her: “Get a syringe and draw a sample from your left arm. I am a vampire and I
vant
to suck your
blood
.”
• • •
“WAS THAT STRICTLY NECESSARY?”
“Shut up and drink.”
“Prosit. Pro—oh.” (Pause.) “Oh!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oh.”
“You’re disgusting.” (Pause.) “Please tell me you haven’t wet yourself.”
“N-no. Bitch.” (Pause.) “Look, there’s a drop left in the tube, I can’t lick it
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