And yet the others, the stores that were still running, were equally disturbing to see, for Buffy knew that their proprietors must be cooperating with the vampires, serving both the humans who still lived in Sunnydale and the monsters who ruled it.
With each block she drove, Buffy’s mood became even more grim. Questions about her mother’s fate, and that of her friends, kept forcing their way into her mind, but Buffy pushed them away. Before she could help anyone, she had to know exactly what the situation was, what she was dealing with. Someone had been there, at the Twin Drive-In. They knew she was on her way here. No way could she risk going by her house just yet.
In a way, despite her horror at the devastation that had occurred in some places in town, it disturbed her even more deeply when she saw that other businesses and homes seemed remarkably well-preserved. Downtown was deserted, and yet many of the businesses actually still had lights on. Curious, Buffy broke in through the back door of the Espresso Pump. The machines hummed quietly, the coolers still working, red lights winking on coffee machines, ready for business. Buffy made her way through the darkened store to the front door and looked at the posted hours of business. There were three words printed there: Open All Night. Simple enough, but they created more questions. The Espresso Pump was still in operation, as were most of the bars she had seen, as well as video stores, a couple of small markets, and the Sun Cinema. But were they run by vampires or humans? Were there many humans left?
As she had made her way around town, she had seen several police cars cruising slowly down deserted streets. Probably looking for me, she’d thought. But she had also seen a few other vehicles, including two gray vans with no rear windows and blacked-out windshields. Just inside the Espresso Pump, Buffy stepped back a bit from the door when she saw another of those gray vans cruise by slowly. It seemed too quiet, almost as though it were rolling along without an engine. Ridiculous, of course. She had not heard anything because of the hum of the many machines inside the cafe. But eerie nevertheless.
A car pulled up in front of the Sun Cinema across the street. Buffy was only slightly surprised to see a haggard-looking middle-aged couple climb out together. They walked around to the trunk, from which they retrieved a trio of large film canisters. Revulsion rippled through her as she realized what was going on. These people were collaborators. Whatever was in the canisters, they were films that had been brought in to be screened for the vampires that now populated Sunnydale. Maybe they had no choice, Buffy thought. But she knew that they all had a choice, the people who still lived in this town. Some of them might not be cooperating with the vampires, but rather were paralyzed by their fear, too terrified to fight. The people remaining in Sunnydale could have banded together and killed their masters, or simply run off while the sun was up. Some probably had fled. But Buffy knew that she would have to be careful. Whether collaborators or simply ruled by their fear, she could not afford to trust anyone who was still here.
The whole town belonged to the monsters now, one enormous lair for the vampires she had come to know as Kakchiquels, the servants of Camazotz. With this as the epicenter, they were building a kingdom, an empire even. Their control extended at least to El Suerte, probably farther. Buffy needed answers.
As soon as the human couple had disappeared inside the theater, Buffy went back out into the alley behind the Espresso Pump again. With the canvas bag of weapons slung across her back, she moved lithely through the hidden places of Sunnydale, always alert for watchful eyes. Even the humans here could not be trusted, that much was now certain.
The going was slow due to the need for stealth, but within twenty minutes she found herself on a block of warehouses, factories and office buildings that ran parallel to the street where the Bronze sat. There were other bars there as well, and it stood to reason she might be able to catch a human out during the daylight
Answers. The need to hear it from the lips of a living, breathing human being was strong in here. Her instinct, and her own memories of the place, had suggested this would be a good neighborhood to start. If that didn’t work, she might try at the college, or simply break into a home that looked as though it were still occupied.
It had occurred to her that the initial skirmishes she’d had with the Kakchiquels all those years ago had been in Docktown, but it would take too long for her to get over there. She had a couple of hours, probably less, before dark. If possible, she wanted to be out of Sunnydale by then. Otherwise she would need a safe place to use as her base, and had no idea where to begin. Buffy slid between an enormous trash bin and the brick wall of a warehouse. Fifteen feet above the ground was an iron ladder that led to the roof. Without hesitation, she splayed her hands against the brick on one side and the metal bin on the other and crawled up between the two. Muscles rippled like cables in her arms.
With a push off the wall, she landed atop the trash bin, balanced on the metal Up of the thing. Buffy sprang from her perch and both hands locked around the bottom rung of the ladder. Feet against the building, she pulled herself up and then was scrambling hand over hand to the roof. Crouched low, she sprinted across the rooftop to the opposite corner, where she could see the street that ran in front of the Bronze, as well as the alley beside the building she was on. Disappointment deflated her. The street below was empty of movement of any kind. A stray beer bottle, pushed by the wind, rolled across pavement with a tinkle of glass. Otherwise, all was silence. For ten minutes or more, Buffy sat there at the edge of the roof. From that height, she could see almost as far as Docktown to the east, the blazing sun on top of the cinema downtown off to the north, and to the south, the tops of houses in residential neighborhoods.
It was as though the entire town had been killed, drained by a vampire. Yet it seethed with menace, as if at any moment its eyes would open, burning orange, and it would rise with fangs gnashing, thirsting for blood.
Anxious, Buffy bounced on the balls of her feet and glanced time and again at the deepening hues of blue on the horizon and the long afternoon shadows on the street.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” she whispered.
Almost as if on cue, the sound of a distant engine came to her. Buffy crouched down even farther and glanced furtively up and down the street. A moment later, she saw the same gray van—or another exactly like it—cruising toward her.
With a small squeak of brakes, it stopped in front of the Bronze. There was a moment’s pause and then the horn blared twice and the passenger door opened.
The figure that emerged from the van made Buffy shiver, though the sun shone warmly on her. She could not see if it was male or female, but it was clothed in a silver radiation suit that covered it from head to toe. Only the black goggles across its eyes broke up the endless silver. Not an inch of skin was visible. Vampire, she thought, and instantly knew it was true. Daylight reflected off the folds in its silver suit, but the monster was safe within that protective garb.
The driver of the van beeped again and the front door of the Bronze slammed open. A tall human man with black hair came out of the club, hands in the air.
“All right, all right! Keep your shirt on!” he snapped.
The vampire walked around to the back of the van and opened the door. From what Buffy could tell from that angle, there was nothing inside the van. Then the man turned back toward the Bronze and shouted inside.
“Move it! Come on, kiddies. Everyone has to take a turn.” Almost immediately, six more people came out of the club, all in their late teens, early twenties. Three male, three female. One of the girls began to sob and hesitate, unwilling to climb into the van with the others. The dark-haired man went to her, held her face in his hands and whispered something that made her stiffen, wide-eyed. After that she went meekly to the back of the van and climbed in. The vampire returned to the front of the van, climbed in, and then the vehicle rolled away. For a moment, the dark-haired man stared after it. Then he went to the door of the Bronze and locked it up before walking to a brand-new conv
ertible Mercedes parked along the road amongst several other cars.
He got in and started the engine. Then he took a moment to tilt his head back and regard himself in the mirror, fussing with his hair.
Which was when Buffy recognized him.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Parker.”
The last time she had seen him he had been a freshman in college. He had seduced her, used her, and then pretended he had done nothing wrong. Now he was five years older, and Parker Abrams was not only collaborating with the vampires, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Son of a bitch,” Buffy muttered angrily.
She withdrew from the edge of the building eight or ten feet, paused, then ran full tilt. With a grunt of effort and anger, she sprang out across the narrow alleyway below. The gap was broader man she had judged and she extended her body forward, turned her leap into a dive. Buffy made it across with room to spare, hit the roof of the Bronze and tucked into a roll.
Without a pause, she flowed back to her feet and ran across the building to stare down at Parker’s car. The Mercedes slid into reverse, but moved only two feet as he attempted to pull out from between two other vehicles.
He was right below her.
Buffy leaped out into open air, her hair whipping behind her as she fell straight down, canvas bag dragging behind her like an unopened parachute. Though it lasted only a heartbeat or two, the fall seemed extremely slow to her. Parker had turned the steering wheel and put the car in drive again, and even as she fell he began to pull forward slowly, at pains to be sure he cleared the bumper of the car in front of him.
Her boots slammed the hood of the Mercedes with a loud crumpling noise. The impact made her teeth clack together and drove her to her knees.
Parker screamed in surprise and fear and for just a moment, forgot he was driving. The bumper of the Mercedes rapped lightly against the car in front of it
He didn’t even notice. He only stared at her. “What—” he muttered. “Who the—” Parker’s eyes went wide, and she knew then that he had recognized her.
“Oh Jesus. You.”
Buffy rose from the dented hood and gripped the top of the convertible’s windshield. Parker gripped the wheel, cut it as far to the left as he could, and pressed the accelerator. He clipped the other car’s bumper again, but Buffy flipped herself over the windshield and into the passenger’s seat.
“No!” Parker yelled.
Beside him now, Buffy shot her right hand out and latched on to his throat, squeezing.
“Stop the car.”
Parker slammed on the brakes. “Buffy, please,” he rasped hoarsely, eyes roving desperately, searching the streets.
It turned her stomach to think that he might be hoping the vampires might still be there, might protect him from her.
“You remember me. You know who I am. Let me ask you, do you know what I am?” Choking, he managed a wheezing “yes.” His eyes were on her, and Buffy stared back at him until Parker looked away. She released his throat and he began to massage it, almost whimpering. When she reached around to pull her canvas bag into her lap, he flinched.
“I’m going to ask questions. You’re going to drive. If I think you’re lying, I’ll snap your neck. Any doubt in your mind that I mean what I say?” she demanded.
He hesitated. Then he smiled, as if relieved. His eyes still had the sparkle that had charmed her once upon a time. “Buffy,” he said amiably. “You don’t have to threaten me.” Nostrils flaring, she turned to glare at him. “You took advantage of me once, Parker. But that was a long time ago. Do I look like that girl to you now?”
Cowed, he gave her the once-over, then shook his head.
“I’ll break you,” she promised. “Just drive.”
“Where to?”
Her thoughts skittered off in several directions at once. There was no way to know how far Camazotz’s influence had spread. But she was certain that there was no way a city the size of Los Angeles could have been overrun. If it had, they wouldn’t still be based here in Sunnydale.
“South,” she said.
Parker drove.
A car passed going the other direction. She watched to be sure Parker made no attempt to signal the driver, likely another collaborator on his way to open up some business that would serve the vampires. The shadows had grown longer. The sky on the western horizon had begun to darken. Nightfall was imminent.
“Faster,” Buffy instructed.
“Your wish is my command.”
“Guess you’re pretty good at that response,” Buffy snarled. “How long have they been in control here?”
“In Sunnydale? Going on four years, I guess. It started small at first, a few people here and there disappeared. Then the cops and the professors up at the college started acting weird. The new mayor, too. Night classes. Evening press conferences. At some point, there were enough of them to just take the town. They did it all in one night, after that. The winter solstice, y’know? Longest night of the year.” The wind seemed almost chilly as it whipped around the convertible.
“How many are there?”
Parker shrugged. “No idea.”
“My friends. My mother. What happened to them?”
“I never met your mother. And I haven’t seen Willow or that other guy since before that night.” Buffy winced, hurt by his ignorance. She wanted so badly to know what had become of her friends. But Parker could not help her.
“How far does their influence extend?”
“I heard they’ve turned the governor. But that’s just the beginning of the king’s plans for the state. Same as he did here, he’s gonna turn officials and people in power, then build up enough of an army to take the whole state at once. Right now it’s just around here. Sunnydale’s like ground zero, with maybe thirty square miles in his control. He’s smart about it, though. Keeps other towns functioning, even has people in some of them thinking nothing’s changed, not even knowing the vampires have taken over. Morons. The leeches keep reproducing, though. It’s only a matter of time.” His words chilled and infuriated her.
“Those people, the ones you gave to the vampires, who were they?” Parker swallowed loud enough for her to hear it. He twitched a little. “They’re… like me. We play along, we live pretty good. But we all have to take turns going to the lair. They … use us. Drink, whatever else they want. One night only. Then they throw us back until it’s our turn again.” Bile rose in the back of Buffy’s throat and her stomach convulsed. She nearly threw up right there in the car. Her nose crinkled with her distaste. Then she remembered something else he’d said.
“King.”
“What’s that?”
“Camazotz has them all calling him ‘the king’ now? It wasn’t enough being the god of bats?” Parker actually chuckled and shook his head. “You really have been away, haven’t you, Buffy?” Buffy frowned. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
But he did not answer. The evening had darkened the eastern sky to a bruised purple, though to the west it was still a baby blue. Minutes left before true night.
Ahead was the intersection with Royal Street, which ran alongside the north end of Hammersmith Park, a quarter of a mile from her mother’s house. The light was yellow. Parker began to slow down.
“Don’t stop.”
But he only smiled. Alarmed, Buffy turned to see a gray van speeding up behind them.
“Go!” she snapped at him.
Up ahead, a second van barreled down Royal Street. Its brakes squealed as it came to a shuddering halt, blocking the way in front of them. The van behind them slewed sideways, preventing them from retreating.
Furious, Buffy shot an elbow into Parker’s side, then punched him in the side of the head. The car was hemmed in front and back. Resigned to a fight, wary of the encroaching dark, she grabbed her bag and leaped up to stand on the seat. Her hands went into the bag and withdrew the crossbow, nocking a bolt into place. She shot a glance at Parker and saw that he was groggy, but
conscious. He reached for the steering wheel and the gearshift.
With a grunt, Buffy kicked him in the head and he slumped over the wheel. The car horn began to blare incessantly.
Ahead of her, four vampires in silver suits climbed out of the van. Three others emerged from the vehicle behind her.
Seven. She’d faced worse odds.
The sky seemed to grow darker in the space between one blink and another. It seemed to Buffy that eyes stared ominously down at her from the windows of every building around her. She thought of her mother’s house, so close and yet impossibly far, and tried not to think of what she might find if she dared go there.
On the corner was a coffee and doughnut place she and her mother had been to a hundred times. Its familiar presence seemed almost to mock the way she knew the world should be. The nineteen-year-old soul that shared a double existence with its older counterpart inside her retreated even farther within.
“Come on!” she cried, outraged, prepared to tear down this ugly new world and rebuild the old, even if she had to do it alone.
The four vampires in front of the Mercedes started toward her. Buffy laughed darkly and shot a crossbow bolt at the one in front. It exploded into a burst of dust inside its silver suit, and the suit crumpled to the ground, empty. Buffy had nocked another bolt into the crossbow in an instant. Then the vampires began to remove their goggles and hoods. It was dark enough now, and it was as though they wanted her to see them, to realize that they did not fear her. She might kill them, they seemed to be saying, but she was in enemy territory, surrounded now, and with more on the way. Buffy fired again, but this time the vampire that was her target moved swiftly, dodging the bolt. She nocked another one, prepared to fire as one by one they removed their hoods. With a harsh intake of breath, she recognized two of the vampires in front of her. One was a female with green-dyed punk hair, face covered in garish, red and white greasepaint. The other was an ugly male who seemed always to accompany her. Though Buffy did not know their real names, during their skirmishes—years ago—she had come to think of them as Clownface and Bulldog.
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