Bloody Torchwood

The beat up old bus rattled down the street, its engine whining complaints. The paint on the sides was faded and peeling in some places. A few windows were cracked and the door was missing a pane of glass; the hole was covered by a sheet of thin plastic cut from a grocery bag, and held on with masking tape.
The interior wasn’t any better. The lino on the floor was peeling, seats were missing vital parts and someone had sprayed their tag – accompanied by a picture of a large male genital - down the walkway. The tag was quite new – only a few days old. It had been amusing to a few of the school students – actually, it had been amusing to every student that took the school bus.
Verne, one of the bus’s few occupants glanced at the painting in question, and rolled her eyes before returning her attentions to the window on her left. The suburbs they were driving through weren’t much too look at, but it was better than looking at the rest of the bus. Verne sat by herself, as per usual. The kids from her neighbourhood that went to her school hated her, and the kids who went to the private school up the way feared her, and the rest of the kids that went to her school.
It was as though the bus had an invisible line drawn down the middle. On one side, a mass of grey and white that was Jackson College, and on the other, the green and black that represented St. Mary’s Catholic. Verne herself wore the white and grey of Jackson.
She lent her head back, her headphone wires cool against her throat. This was how she spent every bus ride – plugged into her battered iPod knock off, called a pPod.
The bus pulled into the front of Jackson, creaking to a halt. The door lurched open and all the Jackson students piled out, some grinning menacingly at the St. Maryians, who flinched and averted their gaze, their hands clutching expensive bags and phones, as though they expected them to be torn from their grasps at any given moment.
Verne personally thought they were being stupid – Jackson wasn’t as bad as everyone made it out to be. It was actually a pretty good school. Verne laughed to herself as she climbed off the bus, slinging her back pack off one shoulder as she stalked into the school grounds, slapping hands with a few guys as she went.
Though she’d only been at that school for a little more than three weeks, and only been in the country for a month, she’d already gained the respect of quite a few students. It could’ve been because she didn’t take shit from nobody, or because she was a complete smart arse. But it was probably because she’d given some smart-mouthed guy a black eye on her first day of school, and she didn’t get busted for it.
Verne didn’t really know, nor did she really care. She was happy that stupid idiots now left her alone.
“Oi Michael, you seen Eddie?” Verne asked a relatively good looking dark skinned guy, who had a shaven head and a tattoo on his forearm, which was revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his school shirt. Michael shrugged.
“I think she went that way,” He replied, jerking his thumb over his broad shoulder.
“Shot bro,” Verne retorted, slapping his hand before walking in the direction he had just gestured. Some people were still confused by the way Verne talked – the slang she used wasn’t used here – it was Kiwi, not British.
“No worries,” Michael responded. Verne walked away, her head down and her hands rammed deep into the pockets of her grey school shorts. Her thick bangs fell in her eyes, scarlet against her dark skin. Her waist-length hair was naturally black, but she had dyed it a bright, unnatural red the previous night.
“Hey Ed,” Verne called to a girl leaning against the side of the school building. Ed was your typical ‘I think I’m tough shit’ chick – huge earrings, puffer jacket and a mouthful of chewing gum. Verne knew that Ed wasn’t as hard as she thought she was, but Verne wasn’t going to say anything.
“Aaay Verne. Nice hair,” Verne greeted, bumping her cheek against Verne’s in a form of greeting. Verne grinned.
“Thanks, I was bored with black, y’know?” Verne fingered a loose strand of her flaming hair absentmindedly.
“Thank God it’s Friday,” Ed muttered, offering Verne a stick of gum from her bag. Verne took the stick as she nodded, a bell ringing.
“Amen to that. C’mon, we got science.” Verne sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“And that stupid cow Bagley,” Ed added, pulling a face as they walked into the crowded school building. Verne ducked a rugby ball that some guy had thrown. “Watch it!” She shouted, scowling at the culprit, her bottle green eyes flickering dangerously. The guy rolled his eyes and flipped her off.
“Whatever,” He muttered but didn’t push it – both Verne and Ed had pretty bad reps.
They slammed into science, stalking to the back bench and sitting themselves at it. Verne promptly kicked her feet up onto the bench and crossed her slim arms over her chest, while Eddie pulled out her phone and began texting madly.
Verne tipped her head back, staring at the pock marked tiles that made up the ceiling of the second story science class room.
The door swung open and several students entered, shouting and laughing, shoving each other. Once bounced a football, the black and white patterned sphere hitting the cool grey lino with a dull, repeated thump. Verne’s eyes slid to watch him for a moment before returning to their previous task of counting the holes on the ceiling tiles.
The little black dots were set in a certain pattern, as rigid and disciplined as an army formation. A few holes were filled with pencils and pens – the signs of an incredibly bored class.
The door opened and closed several times, until the whole class was assembled in the brightly lit class room. All except for their squat teacher.
“Where the hell is Bagley?” Eddie muttered several minutes after the second warning bell had rung. The rest of the class had begun asking the same question, though most didn’t seem to care.
“I dunno,” Verne muttered. She pulled her legs off the table, brushing her thick fringe with her fingers. Eddie blew a large, green bubble and popped it by sucking the bubble back into her mouth.
“That’s disgusting,” Verne reprimanded, drawing looks from the people near her. “What you looking at, kid?” She growled.
“I ain’t a kid,” One of them retorted in a mutter. “I’m probably older than you!”
Verne rolled her eyes. “Not likely,” She said under her breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
As Verne spoke, the door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud crash. The sound caused several snoozing students to jump horribly as Ms. Bagley stalked in.
Ms. Bagley was thin and middle-aged; with shortly cut grey hair and watery grey blue eyes, which stared out from deep folds of skin. She was short, less than five foot four. She always wore pearls and seemed to think she was better than everyone else. She never said it, of course, but the expression on her face screamed her assumed superiority.
“Stupid bitch,” Eddie muttered, as the elder woman ordered books out and phones away. Eddie reluctantly tucked her phone back into her pocket and tossed a tattered exercise book onto the black plastic bench top.
Verne already had her slightly less dog eared book out, and flicked lazily through the pages to a fresh one. She tapped her fingers against the page, staring at her science teacher.
There was something different about Bagley, Verne decided. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something going on. She voiced her observations to Ed, who responded as elegantly as she normally did.

She’s bitchier than normal.” Eddie sad smoothly, writing the date at the top of her page. “She’s probably PMSing.”
Verne laughed softly. “Dude, she’s like ninety. She didn’t get her pension money, more like.”
Eddie laughed too. “Touché Vernie, touché.”
“You girls at the back! Stop the nattering and start copying these notes down!” Ms. Bagley called, turning her watery stare to Verne and Eddie. “I’m talking to you, Edna Stewart!”
“Yes ma’am,” Eddie muttered mockingly, though her pen did begin to wend its way across the page, scribbling down the notes that were projected onto the white board. Verne followed suit, muttering curses under her breath. This mutinous muttering caught the attentions of Bagley, though she obviously didn’t know what they meant, as Verne was swearing in Italian.
“What did you say, Ms. Jones?” Bagley exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at the scarlet haired girl.
“Didn’t say nothing, testa di merda.” Verne retorted shortly, her electric green eyes flashing up to meet water grey ones.
“You did not say anything?” Bagley repeated, her voice as calm as she could manage.
“Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t say nothing.” Verne smirked slightly, and a few students – the ones who knew the meanings of a large percentage of the Italian words Verne used – sniggered loudly. Bagley’s eyes narrowed further, giving the impression that she had a bad and very serious squint. Verne began to write again, though a few students had decided that they’d like to continue Verne’s attempts at smart arsery.
Several sharp phrases and a few good one liners later, and Ms. Bagley looked about ready to snap. Two pink spots had appeared high on her withered cheeks, and several deep creases formed on her already lined forehead. Her heavily plucked eyebrows had all but joined together, and her lips had been pressed into a thin line.
“I would appreciate it if you children would work in silence, and keep your oh-so-witty comment to yourselves!” Bagley half shouted, anger quivering in her voice.
The noise level picked up as she spoke, and Bagley’s hands clenched into liver spotted fists. A muscle in her jaw leapt, and her slim shoulders shook, apparently with rage. She began to shake violently as the class laughed and shouted, throwing bits of paper and ignoring their shuddering teacher completely.
Verne, on the other hand, was staring at Bagley with an expression of horror on her tanned face. “Oh no… Oh no. Shit shit shit!” She breathed, her emerald eyes wide, her long lashes brushing against her skin. Her head jerked to Eddie, who was also staring at the old woman.
“What the hell…?” Eddie gasped.
“Get out!” Verne ordered, leaping to her feet and grabbing Eddie, pulling her up by the arm. “Get out now! Run!”
Members of the class had now turned the attentions to their shivering teacher, their expressions ranging from amused to mildly fearful. As they watched, Victoria Bagley’s mouth slowly opened, and she let out a shuddering shriek. It was horribly long and loud, the sound quite inhuman.
“Everyone!” Verne shouted over the shrieks of the woman. “Get the hell out! Run! Now!”
They didn’t have to be told twice. People leapt up and tore out o the classroom, screaming and knocking over desks and chairs as they went, scattering pens and papers onto the grey lino.
Ms. Bagley, meanwhile, had stooped over, her hands resting on the bench in front of her. She arched her back, the blades of her spine protruding unnaturally through the lilac wool of her knitted turtle neck. The band of pearls around her neck broke, the white orbs scattering against the floor and bench with a chorus of clatters.
From her spine came an ominous cracking sound – something shivered down her back, as though trying to escape. Bagley’s mouth opened in a silent scream to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, like a million needles shining against the darkness of her throat.
She gave a high pitched, keening shriek and doubled up, ducking down behind the desk top, the thick base of the table hiding her from view.
A second later, the large bench exploded across the room. Verne threw herself to the floor, and felt her hair ruffle as the bench soared over head, narrowly missing her flame topped head. It crashed into the back wall then slammed into the floor, the base cracking in the process.
“Holy shit!” Verne gasped, crawling to take cover behind an up ended desk. She heard a growl, and steeling herself, peeked around the edge of the chipped black plastic top.
Where there had once been her science teacher now stood – for lack of a better word – a monster. A creature of children’s nightmares. Green skinned, hunched backed. It stood at roughly seven feet in height, with over long arms and slender, claw tipped fingers that nearly brushed the floor. Its long tail swayed back and forth, heavily decorated with white, dangerous looking spikes.
Its legs were heavily muscled, bent like a dog’s back legs. Its head was near the same size as that of a horse, perhaps a little larger. Its eyes were snake – like slits, with glowing read irises and vertical black diamonds for pupils. The rest of its head was elongated and reptilian, dinosaur – like, even.
Its wide mouth stretched open to reveal rows of dangerously glinting needle sharp teeth, thick ropes of saliva hanging from them. The way the creature’s mouth curved, it was almost as if it were smiling vindictively. It let out a growl, and its nostrils flared, scenting the air.
After a moment of deliberation, the creature lumbered towards the door – it had obviously decided that the students bunched in the corridors would be easier snack to get than the girl crouched behind the broken desk. Verne too had realized this; she leapt out from behind the up turned desk that had been her shelter, and hurled a large textbook at the slow moving monster. The book, titled Level Four Chemistry by Alexander A. G. Malcolm hit the back of the creature’s head with a pronounced THUD.
Its tail lashed and it whirled around, snarling viciously. “What do you think you’re doing, stupid girl!?” The thing asked, speaking in Bagley’s most disapproving tone.
“Pressing your buttons,” Verne answered smoothly, grinning at the creature as she hefted another book. In one flowing motion, she snapped her arm back then forced it forwards, and the book was flung from her long fingered hand. This time, though, Bagley’s impersonator was prepared for an attack. The spiked tail lashed out in a sweeping motion, brushing the book aside though it was merely a fly. Bagley’s laugh rang out before the creature spoke again. “You foolish girl,” It announced, a dark kind of pleasure filling its voice. “Your misplaced attempt at heroism is only going to get you killed!”
Verne smiled grimly. “I wasn’t expecting any less, Ms. Bagley.”
The creature laughed again, and darted forward, its sudden speed surprising for a figure of its large and ungainly stature.
Verne dived to the side, and narrowly avoided getting slashed by the foot long claws that raked the air she had previously occupied only a second before. Verne rolled and jumped to her feet, grabbing the nearest chair and hurling at the monster’s turned back. It struck hard, bouncing off and hitting the wall. The creature spun and its tail lashed out, clipping Verne in the side. The force of the blow caused Verne to do an ungraceful kind of spin and crash into a table.
“Ah fuck!” She spluttered, pulling herself to her feet again, one hand clasping her side.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you, human.” The creature intoned, its long blood red tongue flicking out to stroke a few of its teeth.
“Bring it on, buttmunch. I take down fuckers like you all the damn time.” Verne retorted, scowling. Her fingers curled around a now detached leg of a table, and Verne grinned. She swung it back, then forward into the creature’s face. It obviously hadn’t been expecting that – it had done nothing to protect itself. A large cut opened itself above the creature’s left eye and began to drip an acid yellow substance, which Verne presumed to be its blood.
Verne did not have time to admire her handiwork, however – she was already hitting the creature about the head once more, blows flying thick and fast. After several long moments, the imposter seemed to come to its senses – it began to fight back.
Once more its tail writhed, and this time it caught Verne squarely in the stomach, tearing her school shirt as it knocked the wind from her, and sent her flying. She connected painfully with a wall, and slid down it, coming to sit on the floor, thoroughly dazed and bleeding.
The creature advanced, cackling, its hooked hands scraping the lino. Verne’s eyes slid shut just as she heard another crash and several sets of footsteps. A few seconds later, several loud bangs filled the air, signaling gun fire being let off. After the sound stopped bouncing around the room, a distinctly American – and obviously masculine voice said, “That wasn’t as hard as I expected it to be.”
Verne heard the sounds of a gun being reloaded, before some else spoke. This too was a man, and by the sound of it, a Welsh native. His broad vowels rang out, strangely calming in the current situation Verne found herself in. “What the hell is that, Jack?”
“That, Ianto, is a very good question.”