“If?” I ask. “Aren’t we sure the plane has crashed?”
Asa nods. “We are now, but when we first lost contact we had no way of knowing exactly when they went down.”
Rafe asks the next question that popped to my mind, too. “What about the emergency beacon in the plane? Isn’t there some kind of tracking system in place?”
“Yes, and they’d be aware of it.” Asa’s frustration spills out. “But they’d also know that a crash means search parties from Fairbanks would be on their way— where they’d find two werewolves and a vampire—who may or may not be injured. With luck, they’ll realize it and leave.”
“What are you implying?” Justin asks. “Why would them being supernaturals make them less likely to stay for help?”
Rafe answers before I can. “They’re smart. If they haven’t stayed with the crash, it’s for a reason. Like perhaps they have injuries that could reveal their true nature.”
Paul asks, “Is there any way to determine how the plane went down? Or why?”
“Not yet,” Asa says. “At least, I don’t think there is and Diego hasn’t mentioned anything. Maybe the on-site team would be able to figure it out after studying the wreckage.”
Paul persists, “Isn’t there a black box thingy that may help?”
“Sure. It’ll help—eventually. But not in locating them.” Asa looks at the chef with renewed interest. “Why? What are you thinking?”
“The timing feels off.” Paul glances down at his hands on the table, unwilling to meet the staring eyes around the table. “We’ve got a lot of threats facing us already, you know? I’m wondering if the plane going down was an accident or planned.”
The room falls silent at his suggestion.
My voice comes out calmer than I feel. “Are you suggesting sabotage, either internally or externally from an enemy?”
Paul snorts. “Internally, really? Who the hell on the resort would sabotage our only way to get mail? And, let’s face it, we have more planes. It’s not like breaking one would inhibit us from leaving.”
Justin raises a hand to speak. “Don’t kill the messenger, but if this was external sabotage, wouldn’t it have to be committed by someone internal, like here on the resort?”
“That’s a possibility,” Asa says with a grimace. “Not an attractive one, but a possibility nonetheless. But couldn’t the plane have been tampered with at the airport in Fairbanks?”
I tap my fingers on the table, my nerves getting the better of me at the talk of sabotage. “How long are they normally on the ground with the plane unattended?”
“Is it really unattended with Drew there?” Rafe asks. “Does he leave the plane when Pat and Eric go to get the mail? It is mid-day sun, after all. Wouldn’t he stay in the dark hangar?”
“Yeah,” Asa says. “That would be my guess, too.”
Jon stands and starts to pace. Dammit, he beat me to it. Now I’ll just have to sit here and stew. “Then we’re back to square one, aren’t we? We have to find them and hear what they have to say.”
“All right then,” Jon says while walking circles around the table. “Working on the assumption they did not stay at the plane’s crash site for a search party to find them, they would be walking home—on foot—right?”
Nods around the table confirm we’re all thinking along the same lines. “Okay then, let’s do some guesstimating. How far is Fairbanks from here and what’s a rough estimate on how far they could have flown before we lost contact with them?”
Asa types furiously on the tablet in front of him. “Fairbanks is close to three hundred miles from the resort, and they could have traveled over a hundred miles in the time they were airborne.” He pulls up a map and circles the range with the tip of a finger. “That means they could be possibly injured and attempting to walk over a hundred and fifty miles—through woods, over streams, elevation changes, and with no real break from the sun for close to twenty hours—to make it here.”
“Do you have the search area mapped out?” I ask, leaning forward to look at his screen.
“For the most part. Based on what we’ve got so far for intel. But it’s a shit load of area to cover. I’m not sure how much you expect us to get done in one day, even with all of us searching.”
Rafe’s fingers drum on the table. “I’ve been thinking along the same lines. Let’s try and narrow down the search radius. If you were them what would you do?”
Jon pauses his pacing and returns to his seat. “That’s a good question.… If it was me, I’d be trying to get as close to civilization as I possibly could. Especially if I wasn’t sure anyone was looking for me.”
Asa nods his agreement, interjecting, “I’m with you. Let’s just say, worst case scenario, the plane is unsalvageable, the radio doesn’t work, nor do their satellite phones, but they’re alive. Assumptions being what they are, I realize this is a lot of guessing, but if I was them, I’d be hightailing it as far from the crash site as possible, as quickly as I could. So where would you go next?”
“A road,” Jon says. “Or a village. I’d walk toward civilization of some kind. What do you think?”
“If it were me,” I say. “I’d walk to the closest road. Assuming I wasn’t so blood-starved I was a danger to whomever stopped to help.”
Rafe reaches out a hand and rubs my back, sensing my growing tension. “I think you’re on the right track. Haul Road. That would be the way to go.”
Asa glances back at his tablet, “So we should focus on the area around Haul Road? That’s still over a hundred miles.”
Justin grabs a sheet of paper and starts scribbling. “Not when you narrow it to how far they can walk per hour, through the woods, and calculate the distance from our estimation of where the plane went down.”
I nod, thinking about all the various vehicle types we have on the property. “This sounds like a good job for the helicopter.”
“We have a helicopter?” Paul asks. “So cool.”
Rafe nods. “We don’t have much need for it—it’s an old military surplus item, decommissioned after war time and repurposed for civilian use—but it’s here as an emergency. And if this doesn’t qualify as one, then I’m not sure what would.”
“Where is it?” Asa asks.
“It’s in the furthest hangar at the airstrip, the smaller one we use for storage, under a tarp, and it’ll need a thorough once over before taking air.”
“Who can fly it?” Paul asks.
Rafe raises and hand and points a finger at me then Jon while speaking, “I can fly it, as can Viv, Jon, Drew, Diego and a few other pilots we have on staff, but most of them are away for the summer. Jon, reach out to Diego to prepare the bird, and we’ll take off as soon as it’s ready to go.”
Jon nods and takes out his phone. “Will do.”
“Okay,” I say, “now that we’ve got that covered, where are we with the journals?”
Asa looks down at his notepad. “I’ve got the first dozen done and estimate it will take me at least two more days to finish the rest. It would go faster with help.”
“Okay,” I say with a smile. “I’ll help while the copter is getting prepped.”
Asa’s face remains neutral, but it’s a safe guess he was probably hoping the help would come from another direction. “And there’s more good news on that front. I saw portraits in the journals. Our hope is facial recognition software might be able to help us track your turns down.”
I nod, surprised I thought to include a drawing of the vampires I created. If the likenesses are close enough, that could be a big help in finding people. I wonder if seeing the pictures would help trigger memories for me? I’ll have to test the theory later.
Continuing with my internal list of what to touch base on, I look toward Justin and Rafe. “Where are we with the new security wards?”
My husband responds, “We’ve completed half the circumference of the property so far. We’ll start on the next section in the morning.”
“Okay, g
ood. How about a tracking spell tuned to Eric? Could you manage that, Justin? I’m happy to give you more of my blood if you need it.”
“A tracking spell? Yeah, I can do that. I’ll get right on it after the meeting. It’ll be ready before morning.”
“Will you need something from Eric?”
“I could make one without it, but yeah, if you could get me hair from a brush, that would make it more powerful.”
Rafe picks up his phone and starts typing. “I’ve notified housekeeping. They’ll meet you outside of his cabin to let you in.”
I nod and turn to our favorite werewolf. “Jon, where are you on mastering your new skill?” I know I’m putting him on the spot with talking about it in front of everyone, but we’ve got to be ready, and I have no idea when an attack will come, or if the plane crash is indicative that an attack has already begun.
Jon grimaces before replying. “I spent hours on half-shifting this morning and have been able to successfully call forth a full wolf-man shape a few times. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered it yet, far from it, but I will keep at it and then attempt to teach others when I have.”
“Good. When we go hunting my turns, it’ll be you, me, and Rafe only. I need each of us to be up to our fighting best.” I drum my fingers on the table, my earlier conversation with the doctor coming back to me. “One last thing. Rafe, I need you to issue a mandatory ‘vacation’ to all the employees. I want every human removed from the resort as soon as possible.” A coldness seeps into my heart. My last request is in preparation for war—which is an unwelcome truth I’d prefer to ignore.
Rafe’s eyes hold a sadness in them, he knows what the admission will cost me. “Are you sure, liebling?”
“Without a doubt.” I steel my spine and rise. “Let’s get back to work, people. No one will die on my watch.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAFE
After the status meeting ended, and I sent a text and email to the employees with the good news of their upcoming paid holiday, I finally have a chance to sit down in our office with the journal files. I run the program macros to find key words that might indicate a vampire turning, and instantly, the results appear.
Excitement, anticipation, and tension coils in my middle for a unique and uncomfortable feeling. On the one hand, I’m curious to see what’s in the journals. On the other, I worry. I know my wife hasn’t purposefully hidden anything from me, and I’ve certainly seen my share of horrors in her head whenever she’s deep in a restorative sleep, but what if what I find here is more than what I expect?
Could she have mass-murdered children simply because she was hungry? What if she mind-raped and abused innocents for centuries and only recently gained a conscience? The unsettling train of thoughts brings a sourness to my gut.
I know my wife. There’s no way she’s worse than what I know of her. No one could completely change themselves by willing memories away, could they?
Guilt swamps me, stifling the sick feelings. This is my wife we’re talking about. I’d give my soul for her.
Taking a deep breath, I shore up my confidence and read the words on the screen.
Last night I turned my lover, Tobias. He was dying slowly of consumption and begged me to save him. I wonder if I’ve done the right thing. I never changed Charles, despite the many hours we talked about it, because I wasn’t sure this cursed existence was a suitable alternative to death and an eventual re-birth. In the end, my second husband died to free me.
I wasn’t ready to lose another lover this time. Did I do the right thing? Will I have the courage to kill him if he can’t handle the blood lust? Time will tell. And thanks to this never-ending curse, time is one thing I have plenty of.
Okay, so we’ve got a Tobias here in… what was the date of this entry? I scan back a few pages to find the date, jotting notes on a yellow pad lying on the desk, and then scroll further back to get all the details I can uncover about Tobias, like where they lived at the time, his full name, and anything relating to a physical description of the man.
When I look it over, I realize it’s not much data to go on. How the hell is a few lines of info enough to track someone four hundred years later? I wonder if the only way we’re going to find these vamps is to force Vivian to remember what happened. She knows what they look like. She could draw us a picture. Then again, with the advent of plastic surgery, anyone in this century who’s still around could easily have changed their appearance, permanently.
And if that’s the case, then there’s no reason to force her to remember. Which once again, leads this entire journal-reading-task back to me.
Resigned to my duty, I flip forward a few more pages, looking for any indication she may have either killed Tobias or set him free. After a dozen pages or so, I hit pay dirt. There’s a detailed sketch of a man’s face taking up an entire page. Despite it being in black and white, it’s incredibly life-like. If Asa could use this with a facial recognition program, we might have a better chance of locating the guy—assuming the vamp is still walking upright.
Giddy with the new-found course for identification, I continue searching.
Tonight, I overfed and almost killed a young man. I couldn’t stop myself. And because of my greed, his life would have ended there in my arms, unless I fixed the error and turned him. So I did. I didn’t know him. I’d never seen him before tonight. He was a young man, dying in my embrace because I’d waited too long between feedings.
He wouldn’t have survived without my interference, the same as he wouldn’t have died without it, either. I know this. I know what I did was wrong, but killing him, letting his life slip away while I watched, would have been much worse. Will he make it? Will he be able to survive as a fledgling and control himself?
Or will I have to kill him? All because I lacked control. Stupid slip! And one I will never allow myself to make again. If I turn someone ever again it will be by choice, not because I messed up.
My weakness is inexcusable. I must build safeguards to ensure I never, ever, make the same mistake again.
I skim a few pages forward and see she did indeed have to end the young man’s life within two weeks. The entries leading up to his death were long and filled with self-loathing. She clearly hated herself for what she did and for how she tried to remedy the problem.
Her later entries showcase self-destructive behavior, chronicling her brushes with death, severe depression, and self-loathing over the outcome of the young man. It takes many months before an upward tone is visible in her writing, indicating she took a long time punishing herself before she would allow herself to heal, accept, and move forward, and then slowly, methodically, clear her mind of the memories of the life she ended.
And now I’m seeing a pattern to the “rules” in the front of her journal. She created her own standards to live by. As a way to protect whomever donated blood to her from suffering her fate.
At times, I can see that she hated her very existence, but at others, she appears to embrace the power and strength, and realizes she can still do good, even if she drinks blood.
No closer to finding a viable candidate to track, I jump to the next search.
I turned a young, idealist priest today. He was beaten, robbed, and near death when I discovered him in the defiled church. The invaders didn’t care if he was a man of the cloth. They didn’t care that his church should have been a sanctuary. They left him for dead, after stealing the sparse tithings the poor church collected.
I hesitated before deciding to save him. It took me a long time to make the decision, so long the choice was almost gone. I promised myself if he was horrified by his new existence I would grant him a swift and painless true death. We’ll have a lot to overcome if Father Lucas does decide to continue living as a blood drinker. But I knew him well. I watched him grow from a child into an adult. I saw him become a man of honor in the community, one who never turned away someone in need.
And as far as I’m concerned, the world still needs him. Ple
ase God, if you’re listening, grant me the strength to lead your shepherd to another phase of his life. One that can still include a life of doing good deeds for others—as long as he doesn’t get too hungry and suck the parishioners dry.
A priest! Intrigued, I continue reading, hoping he was one of the ones who made it. There’s a sketch here as well, and no further entries cataloging his demise. Hopefully this will be someone we find on our journey. Surely a man of God would see the inherent need to stop vampire rule in Buenos Aires. Guess we’ll find out when we locate him.
I turn back to my task, heartened we have at least one prospect so far.
Last week, I turned a child. She was twelve and full of life, I couldn’t bear to see her destroyed by a vampire who preferred child lovers. The ancient bastard drank her down, with no regard for what he took, no care if she died on the cold marble floor of the Tribunal. He tossed her limp form aside like a rag doll.
He needs to die. I will find a way, mark my words. I will kill that man. Ancient or not, there are some abominations that have no right to live—and he’s one of them.
My heart clutches in my chest as I read. I know how this child vampire will turn out. Mikov may not have stressed to her the dangers of turning a child, but Dria has expressed it to me many times in the past. I scan the next few pages, looking for what I know will be there.
After four months of entries, I finally uncover what I feared. The tearful recounting of how she had to kill the creature the little girl had become. I read further to confirm my suspicions, and see exactly what I thought I’d find. This turning, she did not will herself to forget.
This one, she allowed to stay with her.
Forever.
So that she would never make the mistake again.
I fell in love with a pirate. Perhaps it sounds like an adventure one might read about, and at the time, it certainly seemed like one. But the day came when I had to make a choice, I had to choose to let him live forever in his prime, or be taken down by an invader’s cutlass. And there were no doubts in my mind that eventually he would’ve succumbed to the fate of other pirates—death or imprisonment. There aren’t many pirates who manage to retire and live off their collected booty, no matter how many sailors dream that’s the life that awaits them.
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