by Darren Shan
Debbie looked like a ghost when we met at Steve's apartment the following morning. Her hair was wet and scraggly, her clothes torn, her cheeks scratched, her hands cut by sharp stones and old pipes. While I cleaned out her cuts and bandaged her hands, she stared ahead at the wall, dark rims around her eyes.
"How do you do it, night after night?" she asked in a weak voice.
"We're stronger than humans," I replied. "Fitter and faster. I tried telling you that before, but you wouldn't listen."
"But Steve isn't a vampire."
"He works out. And he's had years of practice." I paused and studied her weary brown eyes. "You don't have to come with us," I said. "You could co-ordinate the search from here. You'd be more use up here than—"
"No," she interrupted firmly. "I said I'd do it and I will."
"OK," I sighed. I finished dressing her wounds and helped her hobble to bed. We'd said nothing about our argument on Friday — this wasn't the time for personal problems.
Mr. Crepsley was smiling when I returned. "She will make it," he said.
"You think so?" I asked.
He nodded. "I made no allowances. I held to a steady pace. Yet she kept up and did not complain. It has taken its toll — that is natural — but she will be stronger after a good day's sleep. She will not let us down."
Debbie looked no better when she woke late that evening, but perked up after a hot meal and shower, and was first out the door, nipping down to the shops to buy a strong pair of gloves, water-resistant boots and new clothes. She also tied her hair back and wore a baseball cap, and when we parted that night, I couldn't help admiring how fierce (but beautiful) she looked. I was glad it wasn't me she was coming after with the arrow gun she'd borrowed from Steve!
Wednesday was another wash-out, as was Thursday. We knew the vampaneze were down here, but the system of tunnels was vast, and it seemed as if we were never going to find them. Early Friday morning, as Harkat and I were making our way back to base, I stopped at a newspaper stand to buy some papers and catch up with the news. This was the first time since the weekend that I'd paused to check on the state of the world, and as I thumbed through the uppermost paper, a small article caught my eye and I came to a stop.
"What's wrong?" Harkat asked.
I didn't answer. I was too busy reading. The article was about a boy the police were looking for. He was missing, a presumed victim of the killers who'd struck again on Tuesday, murdering a young girl. The wanted boy's name? Darren Horston!
I discussed the article with Mr. Crepsley and Vancha after Debbie had gone to bed (I didn't want to alarm her). It said simply that I'd been at school on Monday and hadn't been seen since. The police had checked up on me, as they were checking on all students who'd gone absent without contacting their schools (I forgot to phone in to say that I was sick). When they couldn't find me, they'd issued a general description and a plea for anyone who knew anything about me to come forward. They were also 'interested in talking to' my 'father — Vur Horston'.
I suggested ringing Mahler's to say I was OK, but Mr. Crepsley thought it would be better if I went in personally. "If you call, they may want to send someone to interview you. And if we ignore the problem, someone might spot you and alert the police."
We agreed I should go in, pretend I'd been sick and that my father moved me to my uncle's house for the good of my health. I'd stay for a few classes — just long enough to assure everyone that I was OK — then say I felt sick again and ask one of my teachers to call my 'uncle' Steve to collect me. He'd remark to the teacher that my father had gone for a job interview, which would be the excuse we'd use on Monday — my father got the job, had to start straightaway, and had sent for me to join him in another city.
It was an unwelcome distraction, but I wanted to be free to throw my weight behind the search for the vampaneze this weekend, so I dressed up in my school uniform and headed in. I reported to Mr. Chivers' office twenty minutes before the start of class, thinking I'd have to wait for the perennial late-bird, but was surprised to find him in residence. I knocked and entered at his call. "Darren!" he gasped when he saw me. He jumped up and grasped my shoulders. "Where have you been? What happened? Why didn't you call?"
I ran through my story and apologized for not contacting him. I said I'd only found out that people were looking for me this morning. I also told him I hadn't been keeping up with the news, and that my father was away on business. Mr. Chivers scolded me for not letting them know where I was, but was too relieved to find me safe and well to bear me a grudge.
"I'd almost given up on you," he sighed, running a hand through hair that hadn't been washed lately. He looked old and shaken. "Wouldn't it have been awful if you'd been taken as well? Two in a week… It doesn't bear thinking about."
"Two, sir?" I asked.
"Yes. Losing Tara was terrible, but if we'd—"
"Tara?" I interrupted sharply.
"Tara Williams. The girl who was killed last Tuesday." He stared at me incredulously. "Surely you heard."
"I read the name in the papers. Was she a student at Mahler's?"
"Great heavens, boy, don't you know?" he boomed.
"Know what?"
"Tara Williams was a classmate of yours! That's why we were so worried — we thought maybe the two of you had been together when the killer struck."
I ran the name through my memory banks but couldn't match it to a face. I'd met lots of people since coming to Mahler's, but hadn't got to know many, and hardly any of the few I knew were girls.
"You must know her," Mr. Chivers insisted. "You sat next to her in English!"
I froze, her face suddenly clicking into place. A small girl, light brown hair, silver braces on her teeth, very quiet. She'd sat to the left of me in English. She let me share her poetry book one day when I left mine in the hotel by accident.
"Oh, no," I moaned, certain this was no coincidence.
"Are you all right?" Mr. Chivers asked. "Would you care for something to drink?"
I shook my head numbly. "Tara Williams," I muttered weakly, feeling a chill spread through my body from the inside out. First Debbie's neighbours. Now one of my classmates. Who would be next…?
"Oh, no!" I moaned again, but louder this time. Because I'd just remembered who sat to my right in English — Richard!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I ASKED Mr. Chivers if I could take the day off. I said I hadn't been feeling well to begin with, and couldn't face classes with the thought of Tara on my mind. He agreed that I'd be better off at home. "Darren," he said as I was leaving, "will you stay in this weekend and take care?"
"Yes, sir," I lied, then hurried downstairs to look for Richard.
Smickey Martin and a couple of his friends were lounging by the entrance as I hit the ground floor. He'd said nothing to me since our run-in on the stairs — he'd shown his true yellow colours by fleeing — but he called out jeeringly when he saw me. "Look what the cat's dragged in! Shame — I thought the vampires had done for you, like they did for Ta-ta Williams." Pausing, I stomped across to face him. He looked wary. "Watch yourself, Horsty," he growled. "If you get in my face, I'll—"
I grabbed the front of his jumper, lifted him off the ground and held him high above my head. He shrieked like a little child and slapped and kicked at me, but I didn't let go, only shook him roughly until he was quiet. "I'm looking for Richard Montrose," I said. "Have you seen him?" Smickey glared at me and said nothing. With my left fingers and thumb, I caught his nose and squeezed until he wailed. "Have you seen him?" I asked again.
"Yuhs!" he squealed.
I let go of his nose. "When? Where?"
"A few minutes ago," he mumbled. "Heading for the computer room."
I sighed, relieved, and gently lowered Smickey. "Thanks," I said. Smickey told me what I could do with my thanks. Smiling, I waved a sarcastic goodbye to the humbled bully, then left the building, satisfied that Richard was safe — at least until night…
At Steve's I woke
the sleeping vampires and humans — Harkat was already awake — and discussed the latest twist with them. This was the first Debbie had heard about the murdered girl — she hadn't seen the papers — and the news struck her hard. "Tara," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "What sort of a beast would pick on an innocent young child like Tara?"
I told them about Richard, and put forward the proposal that he was next on the vampaneze hit list. "Not necessarily," Mr. Crepsley said. "I think they will go after another of your classmates — just as they executed those living to either side of Debbie — but they might go for the boy or girl sitting in front of or behind you."
"But Richard's my friend," I pointed out. "I barely know the others."
"I do not think the vampaneze are aware of that," he said. "If they were, they would have targeted Richard first."
"We need to stake out all three," Vancha said. "Do we know where they live?"
"I can find out," Debbie said, wiping tears from her cheeks. Vancha tossed her a dirty scrap of cloth, which she accepted gratefully. "The student files are accessible by remote computer. I know the password. I'll go to an Internet cafe, tap into the files and get their addresses."
"What do we do when — if- they attack?" Steve asked.
"We do to them what they did to Tara," Debbie growled before any of the rest of us could answer.
"You think that's wise?" Steve responded. "We know there's more than one of them in operation, but I doubt they'll all turn out to kill a child. Wouldn't it be wiser to trace the attacker back to—"
"Hold on," Debbie interrupted. "Are you saying we let them kill Richard or one of the others?"
"It makes sense. Our primary aim is to—"
Debbie slapped his face before he got any further. "Animal!" she hissed.
Steve stared at her emotionlessly. "I am what I have to be," he said. "We won't stop the vampaneze by being civilized."
"You… you…" She couldn't think of anything dreadful enough to call him.
"He's got a point," Vancha interceded. Debbie turned on him, appalled. "Well, he has," Vancha grumbled, dropping his gaze. "I don't like the idea of letting them kill another child, but if it means saving others…"
"No," Debbie said. "No sacrifices. I won't allow it."
"Me neither," I said.
"Have you an alternative suggestion?" Steve asked.
"Injury," Mr. Crepsley answered when the rest of us were silent. "We stake out the houses, wait for a vampaneze, then shoot him with an arrow before he strikes. But we do not kill him — we target his legs or arms. Then we follow and, if we are lucky, he will lead us back to his companions."
"I dunno," Vancha muttered. "You, me and Darren can't use those guns — it's not the vampire way — which means we'll have to rely upon the aim of Steve, Harkat and Debbie."
"I won't miss," Steve vowed.
"I won't either," Debbie said.
"Nor me," Harkat added.
"Maybe you won't," Vancha agreed, "but if there are two or more of them, you won't have time to target a second — the arrow guns are single-shooters."
"It is a risk we must take," Mr. Crepsley said. "Now, Debbie, you should go to one of these inferno net cafes and find the addresses as soon as possible, then get to bed and sleep. We must be ready for action when night comes."
Mr. Crepsley and Debbie staked out the house of Derek Barry, the boy who sat in front of me in English. Vancha and Steve took responsibility for Gretchen Kelton (Gretch the Wretch, as Smickey Martin called her), who sat behind me. Harkat and I covered the Montrose household.
Friday was a dark, cold, wet night. Richard lived in a big house with his parents and several brothers and sisters. There were lots of upper windows the vampaneze could use to get in. We couldn't cover them all. But vampaneze almost never kill people in their homes — it was how the myth that vampires can't cross a threshold without being invited started — and although Debbie's neighbours had been killed in their apartments, all the others had been attacked in the open.
Nothing happened that night. Richard stayed indoors the whole time. I caught glimpses of him and his family through the curtains every now and then, and envied them their simple lives — none of the Montroses would ever have to stake out a house, anticipating an attack by dark-souled monsters of the night.
When the family was all in bed and the lights went off, Harkat and I took to the roof of the building, where we remained the rest of the night, hidden in the shadows, keeping guard. We left with the rising sun and met the others back at the apartments. They'd had a quiet night too. Nobody had seen any vampaneze.
"The army are back," Vancha noted, referring to the soldiers who'd returned to guard the streets following the murder of Tara Williams. "We'll have to take care not to get in their way — they could mistake us for the killers and open fire."
After Debbie had gone to bed, the rest of us discussed our post-weekend plans. Although Mr. Crepsley, Vancha and I had agreed to leave on Monday if we hadn't run down the vampaneze, I thought we should reconsider — things had changed with the murder of Tara and the threat to Richard.
The vampires were having none of it. "A vow's a vow," Vancha insisted. "We set a deadline and must stick to it. If we postpone leaving once, we'll postpone again."
"Vancha is right," Mr. Crepsley agreed. "Whether we sight our opponents or not, on Monday we leave. It will not be pleasant, but our quest takes priority. We must do what is best for the clan."
I had to go along with them. Indecision is the source of chaos, as Paris Skyle used to say. This wasn't the time to risk a rift with my two closest allies.
As things worked out, I needn't have worried, because late that Saturday, with heavy clouds masking an almost full moon, the vampaneze finally struck — and all bloody hell broke loose!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HARKAT SAW him first. It was a quarter past eight. Richard and one of his brothers had left the house to go to a nearby shop and were returning with bags full of shopping. We'd shadowed them every step of the way. Richard was laughing at some joke his brother had cracked, when Harkat put a hand on my shoulder and pointed to the skyline. It took me no more than a second to spot the figure crossing the roof of a large apartment store, trailing the boys below.
"Is it Hooky?" Harkat asked.
"I don't know," I said, straining my eyes. "He's not close enough to the edge. I can't see."
The brothers were approaching the mouth of an alley that they had to walk through to get home. That was the logical place for the vampaneze to strike, so Harkat and I hurried after the boys, until we were only a few metres behind when they turned off the main street. We hung back as they started down the alley. Harkat produced his arrow gun (he'd removed the trigger-guard, to accommodate his large finger) and loaded it. I took a couple of throwing knives (courtesy of Vancha) from my belt, ready to back Harkat up if he missed.
Richard and his brother were halfway down the alley when the vampaneze appeared. I saw his gold and silver hooks first — it was Hooky! — then his head came into view, masked by a balaclava as it had been before. He would have seen us if he'd checked, but he had eyes only for the humans.
Hooky advanced to the edge of the wall, then skulked along after the brothers, stealthy as a cat. He presented a perfect target, and I was tempted to tell Harkat to shoot to kill. But there were other fish in the vampaneze sea, and if we didn't use this one as bait, we'd never catch them. "His left leg," I whispered. "Below the knee. That'll slow him down."
Harkat nodded without taking his eyes off the vampaneze. I could see Hooky preparing to leap. I wanted to ask Harkat what he was waiting for, but that would have distracted him. Then, as Hooky crouched low to jump, Harkat squeezed the trigger and sent his arrow flying through the darkness. It struck Hooky exactly where I'd suggested. The vampaneze howled with pain and toppled clumsily from the wall. Richard and his brother jumped and dropped their bags. They stared at the person writhing on the floor, not sure whether to flee or go to his
aid.
"Get out of here!" I roared, stepping forward, covering my face with my hands so that Richard couldn't identify me.
"Run now if you want to live!" That decided them. Leaving the bags, they bolted. For a couple of humans, it was amazing how fast they could run.
Hooky, meanwhile, was back on his feet. "My leg!" he roared, tugging at the arrow. But Steve was a cunning designer and it wouldn't come loose. Hooky pulled again, harder, and it snapped off in his hand, leaving the head embedded in the muscles of his lower leg. "Aiiiieeee!" Hooky screamed, throwing the useless shaft at us.
"Move in," I said to Harkat, deliberately louder than necessary. "We'll trap him and finish him off."
Hooky stiffened when he heard that, the whimpers dying on his lips. Realizing the danger he was in, he tried leaping back up on to the wall. But his left leg was no good and he couldn't manage the jump. Cursing, he pulled a knife out of his belt and propelled it towards us. We had to duck sharply to avoid it, which gave Hooky the time he needed to turn and flee — exactly what we wanted!
As we started after the vampaneze, Harkat phoned the others and told them what was happening. It was his job to keep them informed of developments — I had to focus on Hooky and make sure we didn't lose him.
He'd disappeared from sight when I reached the end of the alley, and for an awful moment I thought he'd escaped. But then I saw drops of blood on the pavement and followed them to the mouth of another alley, where I found him scaling a low wall. I let him get up, and then on to the roof of a neighbouring house, before going after him. It suited my purposes far better to have him up above the streets for the duration of the chase, illuminated by the glow of street lamps, out of the way of police and soldiers.