by Laira Evans
“Captain, what are you doing here?” What face would he show me today? Who was the man behind the mask?
He smiled, cheery demeanor utterly at odds with his surroundings. “It is my station, is it not? You know, Bruce was quite worried about you when he heard your situation last night.”
“There's cause to be worried then?” I said lightheartedly. Bruce was sweet for checking up on me, even if I did get a stalker vibe from him. “When you called me a police officer for a moment I thought you were going to let me go free.”
“Not so quickly, I fear.”
My words came through clenched teeth. “Listen Morris, I'm not in the mood for your mind games right now.” My head whipped backwards as a cricket rebounded off the window before I snapped back to face the captain. A brief tremor shot through his face before his smiling mask reasserted itself. 'Did he see my eyes?'
Despite his brief lapse the captain's voice was firm. “I didn't realize your schedule was so booked. I simply thought you'd want to know that a man confessed to being Chains an hour ago. He's being held in another part of the compound now for questioning. I'd like to ask you if there was anything else you'd like to say to me.”
My eyes strayed towards where the knife was hidden. “No, nothing.” I hesitated. Whatever it was that had pulled Jake through the windshield had been anything but human. For him to confess, and during daylight? My true assailant was almost certainly still on the loose. It was a long shot but, “Did he look normal?”
His chin shifted to the left. “Normal enough, as serial killers go. No horns, if that's what you're asking. I mustn’t tell you any more than that. You understand.”
I remained kneeling but my toes tensed against the bed. “You know something, don't you.” My curled left hand edged towards the knife at my back. Not to use it, but for reassurance. “You must at least suspect it, suspect that things aren't quite right with this case.” I knew I shouldn't continue, that every word out of my mouth would dig me in deeper, but still I kept going. “Make absolutely sure he is who he says he is. Things aren't always how they first appear.”
“Why are you telling me this?” His smile had vanished as if it had never been, body suddenly tense. His eyes were piercing as he tried to catch my own that lay clouded in shadows.
“I don't know,” I said in a small voice. I did want the killings to stop, but I couldn't shake the feeling my prime motivator at that moment was nothing more than a burning curiosity. Serial killers didn't just confess out of the blue, but if a supernatural monster with fangs and claws and possibly fur started knocking down the door for your family it probably wouldn't be that hard to prompt a fake confession.
Morris broke me out of my musing with a soft aside. “Make sure you eat your dinner tonight. Hunger strikes are bad publicity.”
“I'm vegan.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think. 'It's lies like this that will get me sent to Hell. Assuming I'm not a soulless creature of the dark already. But I'd notice something like losing my soul, right?' I blinked. 'Assuming it was there to begin with.'
“I'll see what I can do.”
My lips twisted into a sad smirk. 'Well then, the captain is servicing my whims. I should brush aside all negative thoughts of my soul as simple pessimism, as the universe is obviously a bright and shiny place, prison cell notwithstanding.' “And hold the garlic,” I added. The captain gave a small, slow nod before walking off in silence.
I had never regarded myself as much of a socialite but even that brief and tense conversation had helped sate an urge I hadn't known I had. Trapped here away from television, books, and people in general, I was quickly becoming starved for some form of intelligent interaction. But alas, one look at the man who finally brought the food convinced me I'd probably have more luck talking with the pile of assorted veggies.
The slop looked like it had been dumped from a can and microwaved. It tasted worse, the asparagus slithering like worms down my throat. I managed to endure through half of the soggy meal before dumping the remainder in the sink. 'This isn’t worth the effort. Maybe I should have asked for a steak lightly braised on both sides – or neither.' That would be a laugh.
“I've had enough of this,” I huffed. My lips curled back over my fangs as my breath came in short, angry puffs. A gruesome idea occurred to me and at this point I was ready to snap if it didn't work. Then again, to even consider this maybe I had snapped already. Here went nothing. Two pinpricks of pain blossomed outwards as my fangs punctured the skin of my wrist, tongue lapping at the trickle of blood that flowed even as it rebelled at the bitter flavor. I drew my fangs from the wound.
“Come on, come on, work!” The wound was already closing and I had little desire to renew it. I shivered as my tongue tickled the delicate skin of my wrist, wiping away the final droplets of blood from the wound. A stretch of dry toilet paper cleaned off my stained chin before I tossed it away without a second thought. 'It has to work.' My head throbbed as I willed my claws to recede. Every time I had returned to normal had been after I fed or after being half burned alive by the sun, and I was determined that this time would be no different – even if the blood I fed on was my own.
Suddenly it happened. The hunger didn't fade, but my body fell limp as all that restless energy streamed back towards my core. My mouth closed as my jaw muscles relaxed, teeth shrinking and smoothing back to normal. 'It worked.' Exhaustion swept over me like an ocean and I was unconscious in seconds.
A chill air swept into the cave, weaving between our packed bodies, pushing me to wake. My packmates stirred soon after, the purple glow of twilight visible from our narrow view of the northern sky. The river bubbled past the shallow cave we had dug in the riverbank last night, the water a good sign that life was close by. So near the water's edge the fresh-dug cave had grown damp during our rest but there was enough of us that even the tiny amount of body heat my packmates gave off was enough to keep me comfortable.
I tried to linger in a pleasant half-sleep, legs still weary from the chase of the previous night. It wasn't to be, the ferals had already started to stretch. Much like cats they flexed each muscle in turn, claws grinding against the dirt. Prickling my skin with their bone-white talons the heap of them slowly unraveled, filing onto the prairie. Their gleaming, amber eyes blinked against the light of the sun still hanging just beyond the horizon. I had barely completed my own stretches, copying the ferals as much as I was able, when one female let off a triumphant howl. The scent had been caught, the chase was afoot once more.
My bare feet were swift and sure, carrying me through the tall grasses as I followed the feral ahead of me. I let my arms swing low, like theirs, following their lead as they fell to all fours for a sprint up a hill as the soft light of the full moon spurred us on. They weren't like rotters, gnawing anything that moved, or red-eyes, torturing their kills, but though I felt safe among them I was ever wary of acting too strange, too out of place. They were hunters, and for some reason I didn't smell like food. That was generally enough for them. Even though they knew I was different, so long as I didn't act like prey they tolerated me.
We were so close I could almost taste our quarry. The tingling thrill of a coming squall pressed at my skin but we kept ever onwards. Even as the winds rose and rain and fog hid the way we kept our pace.
The end arrived almost disappointingly quickly, the fog revealing his swaying antlers only moments before we attacked. The rest of the herd had fled, leaving behind a lone buck. Potbellied and elderly, his knees had collapsed after the long run when the flat prairie molded into rolling green hills. Twelve ferals descended on him with ravenous hunger, the impact of their claws sending geysers of blood to mix with the driving rain. I wove through the pack to grab at a leg, pulling and twisting at the weakened sinew until finally it ripped free. Retreating from the frenzy of biting and tearing I sank my teeth into my prize as my packmates fought over the innards of the now decapitated stag. I let the rain beat against my back as I chewed the gamey l
eg muscles, my body still flush with heat from the run.
A roar split the night. I cocked my head, curious. It was a hunting call, but not that of a feral. A red-eye, and relatively close. I lowered my head to the ground, halting my chewing of a stubborn bit of sinew as I listened. The ground was still dry enough that the answer came as much through my fingertips as through my ears: footsteps, and lots of them. They were coming closer, but after a few moments I could tell they would pass us by. As expected, the moaning and groaning of rotters sifted through the wind. Red-eyes lived to kill and cause pain, not for the hunt. They weren't very good at tracking, either. They'd follow rotters for leagues, leaping ahead only when prey was in sight. Ferals didn't put up with them. Still, it was odd for any non-feral to be this far from the cities, let alone a whole pack of them. They must be pursuing something.
Little content with my small share of the stag I gave a short yip to my packmates to indicate “food, follow.” A few briefly looked up, but they were still too engaged in their meal to consider leaving it. Still, I was curious. I crept after noisy rotters through the tall grasses and wildflowers, careful to stay downwind of them lest the scent of my prize or myself lure them my way. It was then that I heard it. “...!” The sound of something half-remembered, half-forgot. “I can't die like this!”
What was it? I recognized the sounds, could pick out the starts and stops, but the meaning escaped me. Were these, possibly, 'words?' It was all so vague, but as they continued to shout their defiance to the night I felt bits and pieces coming back to me. Were these truly humans then? It was hard to believe that any were still alive after so long. The last one I had seen... I hardly remembered it now. In the old days it had been no novelty to see a human die, and the last had been witnessed with no special concern. But then, like the melting of a solitary snowflake, they were gone with no warning.
Despite the risk, I had to see them. My packmates were not so far off that I could not run to them if a red-eye took after me. The clouds were already parting, and I was confident in my ability to outrun the lazy red-eyes and the stupid rotters so long as I didn't get lost in the fog.
I shook desperately, trying to wake from the nightmare, the memory, but I was so very tired. The morning light through the barred window hung on me like an anvil. My eyes fluttered open and for a moment I could see both worlds. Then the dream swept me under yet again.
I could almost see them now. Loud noises – guns, I realized – blared on the hilltop. The humans, however, stayed stubbornly out of sight. I'd underestimated the force of those following them. It wasn't a pack, but a horde. As numberless as the stars they tromped through the prairie, leaving the grass tamped-down and silent in their wake. I couldn't pass any closer this way, but the back slope was another matter. Worn down by the river, the hill gave way to a cliff. I lay down what remained of the stag's leg and peered up at the cliff of rock and moss in equal measure. I put to it eagerly but the rain had made the rocks treacherous and I dared not move too swiftly.
I heard crying. That was something I remembered, even if it had been so long that I hardly recalled what it felt like. I crept closer, bare feet gripping the stone tightly as I reached for the top of the cliff. A pebble rolled off as I peered over the edge and I worried I had been revealed, but my worry was for naught. The gunshots and the cacophonous horde were more than enough to drown out such a small noise.
My face split open in a grin as I saw them. Humans! Real, living humans, looking frightened or perhaps manic as they fired bullet after bullet down the slope. One male even had a bow and arrow. It was a shame they would die so quickly. A few small fires burned, holding back the red-eyes, but their defenses wouldn't last for much longer. It would have been... nice, perhaps, to watch them longer. The ash from the fire pits they left behind in their travels was warm to sleep in and rarely had bugs if fresh. There was really no saving them now though, and with so many hunting them there wouldn't even be anything left of them to eat.
That was when I heard it again, the pitiful cry of an infant. My eyes tracked to it immediately, wrapped in swaddling and tucked into a crevice well behind their ranks. It was strange to see such a small human, no bigger than a rabbit. To think it was still alive in this world, albeit it not for much longer.
I crept closer, though why I was not sure. Cautiously I picked it up by its clothing with one hand. Did I eat it? My eyes were blurry but rubbing at them just made it worse. 'I'm crying,' I realized.
I clutched the baby closer, still uncertain, but rapidly realizing that this baby felt important, felt right. I held it to my chest and a strange sound bubbled out of it. 'Laughter?' The word seemed to fit, but I couldn't remember what it meant. Still, I wanted to hear more of it. I wouldn't let anyone take this tiny human from me, not even my packmates.
I roared as something struck me. It was a knife. The pommel had hit me in the leg, but I recognized the potential damage it could have caused me instantly. Snatching up the knife I hissed at her but she ran at me anyways. I leapt back but my feet hit only air. I was falling...
I felt weak when I awoke, like a child struck by fever. I could still feel the energy of my vampire side tucked away inside me, a strength just waiting to flow through my veins if I let loose the dam. I felt hunger, too. Common, human hunger, but also that other, darker thirst that emanated from the same area as my hidden power. I ignored it. Its weight was like a feather next to the suffocating mountain that was this new revelation.
Holly wasn't my sister. In truth, I could get over that. There were plenty of patchwork families after the outbreak of the Animator virus, and even before, for that matter. What was harder to stomach was that I stole her, kidnapped her from her mother. What if that group had survived? Did she still grieve for her daughter, never knowing what truly happened to her? I didn't blame her for throwing the knife at me in the least, beast that I had been. 'I actually considered eating her.'
But why had I kept the knife? It was the same she had thrown at me, I was sure of it. I ran my fingers over the blade I had crafted from the bedpost and thought I understood. It was the symbol of a pact. As long as Holly was safe, was happy, then what I had done was not so terrible, not unforgivable. And she was happy, or would be soon. She was going to perhaps the best college in the world, had two loving parents, and had a bright future ahead of her. She didn't need me around anymore, mucking things up.
Booted footsteps disturbed my contemplations. “Rise and shine.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled. I bet he was grinning at me as he plopped a new tray of food down on the ground before moving off, whoever he was. I didn't stand up so much as roll onto my feet, shoulders slumped and feet dragging as I grabbed the tray. It tasted better than the previous fares. The fruit, at least, was a level above simply edible. I was pleased to note the orange juice didn't burn my mouth or keep me from swallowing. Apparently when my fangs had receded my sense of taste had changed back to normal as well. I was just starting in on the accursed vegetables when a young officer ran by as if dogs were nipping at his heels. 'Eh?'
He had hardly made it out the door when I heard him shouting. “Chains is dead! He bashed his own head in!”
“This, I did not expect,” I whispered. My lips felt parched. I rolled them inwards to wet their shriveled surface. 'Blood?' The taste was unmistakable. My fingers came away covered in the familiar half-congealed substance. 'It's fresh. Did I bite myself in my sleep?' I set thoughts of the matter aside as I began a few stretches to wake myself up. It wouldn't be long before they came to question me again, especially after something like this. I giggled as the sugar from the orange juice rushed to my head. 'They'll never let me go free now. I'll be lucky to only spend ten years locked away. Ten years of horrible food, hard beds, and unquenchable thirst as I hide what I am.' The meager meal had restored some life to my limbs, made me feel normal again. But it wasn't enough. Compared to the power I had enjoyed yesterday it felt like I was standing in a pit of mud wearing hundred pound weights. The fruit
had done absolutely nothing for my other hunger either.
I tucked my blackened knife into a fold of my t-shirt at the small of my back before I could second guess myself. 'I'm being ridiculous; I should put the knife away and tell them the truth. If I pitch it right they shouldn't freak out too badly, it's not as if this is seventeenth century Salem after all. People see crazier things on Reality TV.' The knife was a heavy, cold weight against my spine, but my trembling hands made no move to remove it from its hiding place. People might be accustomed to the strange, but with the world still plagued by hostile zombies it wasn't exactly the best time to come out of the coffin. I fiddled with a bit of fluff on the blanket, restless and anxious.
There was a knife wound in the back of his head when they dragged him out, someone having made sure that he wouldn't become a zombie. It was hard to believe he hadn't already risen, but maybe it actually was possible to hit your own head hard enough to prevent resurrection. Who knew. I couldn't see his face, but he had long gray hair. He was rather thin, but wiry enough. As I had thought, Jake was wrong in his guess. There were definitely senior citizens strong enough to hoist a body.
The hair was an odd choice, didn't see that often in men unless it was in a ponytail or they were some sort of musician. Then I recognized him. 'The cellist...' I sank back into the bed, not wanting to believe that my memory of that small piece of beauty I had experienced in the park was now tainted as well. For the length of that song in the park I had felt a connection. Felt like there was someone who could understand me, accept me. But now I knew the truth, it was just the recognition from one monster to another.