* * *
The vision began to fade as he found himself lying on the ground panting rapidly. As the real world began to focus out in front of him, he turned his head and looked over to see Rachel's limp body crumpled over and still. He hadn't wanted to kill her. He reached forward quickly and turned her around to look at her face. A vicious scowl was etched into it, solid and frozen. Her flesh was already beginning to decay. Noticing this made Hank jump back in revulsion.
He’d been sitting there for a long while, sobbing and shaking. He was aghast at what he had become. How would he protect his son now? That old longing came back to haunt him. If he were a vampire now, all he would have to do was wait for sunrise. That was it. All it would take. The cold emptiness showered over him and he shuddered violently. His mind was made up. He told himself it had been decided for him. His heart beat intensely.
Now that he was one of them, he would no longer be of any use to Toby. He could only hurt his beloved son now. So the choice was easy. He now realized he no longer had any reason at all to live. With a stealth and nature he had never known, he climbed his way out of the pit under the partially constructed house. When he set foot on the ground floor, he looked down at Rachel's body below. He could smell the flesh rotting from where he stood. It made his stomach turn.
He lifted his foot from the ground, letting sand rain down from his shoe into the pit, turned, and made his way out of the tarp-covered wall. Beyond came the sandy ground in front of the structure. He started back toward his original course, heading east on the road he had followed most of the night. His plan was simple. Keep going east until the dawn wakes. Then to hell with all the pain. To hell with all the misery. To hell with this life and all it had done to him in vain. Tears swept down his face as he went. His body was exhausted yet he put in every effort it took to lift and drop his feet back and forth, left and right. One foot in front of the other.
Chapter 20
Peter's Rebuke
As Simon's body flew through the air toward Peter, his mind caught up, making time seem to slow to a halt. In that long moment, he realized he needed to land so he wouldn’t harm Ishan. With that thought, he used his new sense of balance to guide his landing just in front of Peter. Then his feet slammed into the floor and he rose back into the air, clutching Peter by the front of his jacket. He sprung up from the floor hard enough that the two of them more than cleared Ishan's hospital bed completely. The result ended with Peter's body crashing through the far corner by the door. Pulverized brick and mortar scattered everywhere and the air became thick with its dust.
Simon found himself unscathed by the blowback of debris as he focused on his enemy. Peter lay bleeding from the head and dazed in the hall outside the infirmary. After a moment of watching him, Simon advanced. Peter began scooting backwards, awkwardly clutching at his head. For a moment, Simon felt sorry for the wretched creature. In that second, while he was vulnerable, Peter made his move, jumping up into the air feet first, kicking Simon in the face in mid backflip. Then Peter ran, lunging over anything in his way with the full speed of his preternatural ability.
As soon as the shock wore off, Simon began his pursuit, finding himself much more agile and unnaturally fast than he’d even been as a fledgling vampire. He bounced off side walls and somersaulted over medical carts, moving faster than he knew his human eyes had been able to register. He knew every corner of every room in this place from Ishan's memory. After a few minutes of speeding through the hall, he spotted Peter up ahead, moving moderately slower than himself. But ahead of Peter, he could see the hallway was coming to the large open room. Then, he saw Peter enter the room flashing off to the right. Almost immediately afterward, Simon came flying into the room himself, stunned to find it had changed so much from what Ishan's memory of it had been. The room he knew from Ishan's recollection had been intact. This was the same room, only everything in it was broken, scattered, or both. He calculated his options as he landed on his feet facing the hall.
The next thing he knew he saw a flash of light and was overwhelmed by a severe sense of weakness and pain. Then it was gone.
He heard a faint movement from behind and turned just in time to duck from the Samurai sword Peter swung at his head. Simon lunged forward and grabbed hold of Peter's hands, still on the hilt of the sword, now pointed toward the ground. Peter, using Simon's force to his benefit, spun away from him and Simon felt a blow to his abdomen and fell backward a few feet. Next, Peter jumped and dove for Simon, his sword held with both hands and aimed downward. In the instant before Peter would have struck , Simon dove forward, slamming into Peter’s waist and sending him face forward toward the floor. Before Simon could get back on his feet, Peter managed to reach out and take a swing at him with the sword, cutting a long wound across Simon's chest. Simon rolled backwards onto his feet as he felt the wound already closing.
He looked down at his chest to see the blood drying behind his shirt. Peter stood up, visibly tired, his hand barely gripping the sword as the blade's end lay against the floor.
"How does it feel?" Peter taunted.
Simon looked at him, confused.
"How does it feel to have become the thing you hate most?"
"You don't know anything about me," Simon said, feeling his hatred for Peter overwhelm him.
"Actually, Simon, I know a great deal about you. I know why you hate your mother, for one," Peter said, letting his words sink into Simon.
"So, it was you. You raped my mother."
"You can't rape the willing, Simon."
Peter's words sparked the anger within Simon like a match to gasoline. He flew at Peter, knocking the sword from his hand, sending both of them toward the wall across the room, and slamming Peter into it. Behind Peter, the wall was cracked and indented around the shape of his body. Peter looked up at him in a daze.
"I've been watching you for years, Simon. And you know what the damnedest part is? I don't even know why." Peter slouched, and then curled up into a ball, lying sideways on the floor. "It's like this voice has been telling me what to do in the back of my head, all my life. I don't know what it is, I just do what it says, and I get what I want."
Peter pushed himself up with shaking arms. "Until now. It told me not to tell you this. But I want to so much. I want to tell you about all the dirty little secrets I know about you. I want to shame you before I kill you. I want you to feel what it's like to be humiliated and betrayed like I was."
Simon watched stunned by what he was hearing as Peter dragged himself up to his feet, looking at him with a renewed sense of purpose.
Simon's vision flashed again. This time, the vision became something more distinct than just light. He saw the inside of the infirmary. He also felt the same sense of fear, and pain again, only this time he could tell the pain was coming from his neck. Then it was gone again, and so was Peter.
Simon spun around just in time for Peter, in mid run, to stab into Simon with his sword. Simon fell on his side to the floor, the sword still in his gut. He slid onto his back and heard the tip of the blade scrape against the tiled floor while immense pressure exploded in his lower back. He screamed in agony. Peter watched with a smirk of victory. Then, he walked forward assertively and pulled the blade from Simon's body. Simon let out a howl as the sword slid out of him.
Another flash from the infirmary took over Simon's senses. This time he felt as though he had transported back into the room. Every sense was there. Even thought. He knew at that moment he was Ishan, and he was going to die if Simon didn't get back in time.
Then Simon was back in his own body again. Peter was raising the sword, preparing to end the battle in one determined swipe at Simon's neck. He swung, and with a simple movement of his hands, Simon slapped the sides of the blade, his palms stopping the sword's momentum without injuring himself at all. Then he lifted with his hands, bending the blade like putty. Peter dropped the sword and began screaming at Simon.
"You're just a pawn! The whole reason that vo
ice told me to watch you and to rape your whore mother was to..." Peter stopped and twitched. He made sounds with his mouth, but words would not come out. He clutched at his throat. He started coughing up blood as he looked at Simon in disbelief. Simon watched, conflicted as to how he felt or what to do. Peter reached out to him as if for help. Simon pulled his hand from Peter's reach, watching with horror as the vampire's face started to shrivel. Peter opened his mouth to speak and as his tongue touched the roof of his mouth to make an utterance, Simon's consciousness flashed to the infirmary again. When he was back to normal, he saw that Peter's body lay completely withered and lifeless. He turned and ran back in the direction of the infirmary. When he arrived back, Ishan was lying in the bed, waiting for him, looking almost as bad as Peter. Simon knelt down beside Ishan and looked into his eyes.
"What can I do to save you?" he asked.
"You know what to do. You have more than just my blood."
"But, I don't know how."
"Remember how you felt me do it before. You do know, just remember, and do what I did."
Simon found remembering all too easy in his newfound condition. He grabbed hold of Ishan's hands and let his compassion consume him, like Ishan had when using the gift of healing. Just like in Ishan's memories, the energy of his compassion transformed and became a new energy, a tangible one. It flowed through his body. Then, like Ishan, he focused on redirecting the flow of that energy from all the rest of his body, until it was all concentrating through his hands. Ishan's body jolted as Simon felt the flow of energy blast from his hands and into Ishan. He watched as Ishan's flesh became firm, and his color slowly changed from a dull gray to a glorious pale white. When the energy was expended, Simon saw that he was not finished and realized what he had to do. He tilted his head to the left.
"Drink," he commanded. Ishan looked in his eyes and hesitated for a moment. Then, looking dazed and flushed, he plunged his face into Simon's neck and began to drink.
Chapter 21
The Rising Sun
If there is one thing in the desert as numerous as the many grains of sand, it would be the stars in the sky. Hank noticed this all too well as he spent those inevitable moments walking by the light of those stars. Aside from them, his surroundings were pitch black. Even his own body was invisible to him as he looked down at it. As he stumbled his way through the desert sand that he could only feel by its clumsy footing and course texture, he dazed off into his memories. One particular memory took shape in his mind and played itself out for him, taunting him with its long lost happiness. Toby had been just shy of a year old when the memory originally took place. It was before Diana, and before he woke to the realization that the government he had lived under ruled through deceit, slander, and murder. The memory was, ironically enough, the day Toby took his first step.
"Come on, buddy boy, you've almost got this," Hank said to his glowing little boy.
Toby looked at the couch where his father sat expectantly. His arms reached out like a sleepwalker as his hands opened and closed to grab on to the air to keep his balance. He started making groaning noises like when he wanted to eat, or wanted a toy, or anything else that tickled his fancy. Hank slid down onto his knees on the floor and reached his hands out to Toby just beyond the toddler's reach.
"Toby, you can do it. Remember how Daddy showed you? Just pick up your little footsie and bring it forward, plop it down, and do the same with the other one."
Toby groaned louder with a hint of whining in his voice while shaking his tiny hands for his daddy to grab hold of. Then in his determination for his father to comply, he leaned forward to reach for him. The next second, something miraculous happened. He leaned forward so far that his leg instinctually lifted and swung forward and he fell onto his right foot without even realizing what he had done.
Hank cried out with excitement, "You did it, son!"
Toby looked down at his foot planted on the ground and laughed, doing a little dance. Then he lost his balance and crumbled to the floor, laughing harder in that loud, boisterous way that toddlers do.
* * *
Chuck was speeding along when he decided he wasn’t going to let the bad news ruin his mission. Sure it changed things, dreadfully, but it was what it was, he thought. He would just have to pretend it was just another day at the office, hunting down prey, and murdering them in cold blood. He had adapted to this line of thinking so much he was almost smiling again. But then he came to the mess of collided, abandoned vehicles covering the exit to US Highway 95 North.
"Fuck!" he screamed as his last effort to enjoy his mission disintegrated. Then he gripped the handheld navigation device that was wirelessly locked onto the location of Hank Evans's implant and began to peck harshly on the tiny keys with his thumbs. When the alternative route appeared on the display, it took everything in Chuck's will not to fling the device out the window. Instead, he tossed it into the passenger seat with deliberate constraint and heaved the gearshift up into reverse. The Roadster accelerated backwards and then with a few swift movements, Chuck swung the ‘vette onto US Highway 95 South in the opposite direction. He pulled out his cellular phone and held down the number two, speed dialing the Emperor's main emergency line. The line rang once and then Joseph's scratchy voice greeted him.
"Yes, Lotinger?"
"There is a detour in the original route. It's going to take me another hour and a half to make up the difference. I, I, I'm sorry, sir, it was unavoidable."
The Emperor sighed with obvious contempt.
"I appreciate your informing me of this, Lotinger, but I do not wish to hear your voice again until it is telling me what I want to be hearing. When you have taken care of your assignment, I will be most glad to speak with you. In the meantime, make it so."
"Yes, Your Holiness," he said. An empty dial tone returned his declaration of allegiance. He scowled at the phone then put it back in his pocket and sped on.
* * *
Even in the warm, dry air of Nevada, the breeze hitting Hank's tear-soaked face sent a chill down his spine. He’d been sitting on his knees in the middle of the desert for some time now, resting his sore legs. He had long since veered from the road and could no longer remember which direction it had been. Sure he was no longer in a place that would shade him from the sun's deadly rays, he slumped forward and turned, plopping down onto his back in the cool sand. As he lay there gazing up at the whole of the dark sky filled with stars, a meteor shower stretched across the sky in brilliant hues of blue and green and he wept. The only faith left in him now was the promise made by Ishan to make sure that Toby would be cared for in the event of Hank's death. His faith in life, and in himself, had scattered adrift with the wind that was now blowing sand into his face.
When Hank woke up, he knew immediately from looking up at the sky that he had slept for some time. It was still dark, but the stars were different. The patterns were the same, but they had shifted to the west a ways. He was shaking violently. At first he thought it was from the cold desert night, but after a few minutes he realized what the true culprit was. He was thirsty, and unlike so many others lost in the desert, it was not water that his body was calling for. He no longer felt overwhelmed with depression. In its place lay a desperation, a yearning so strong he could hardly sit still. He stood up and began to stagger quickly forward in the direction he had been heading all along. He knew there were no humans left in Necropolis. His sense of morality fought him as he went, but his body moved as if he was completely unconflicted. He tried to think of his son, and what the boy would think of his father becoming such a monster, and although tears streamed down his face, he kept on. His legs shook with each step to the point of losing his balance every few footfalls or so.
The wind had picked up, causing more and more dunes as he went, further complicating his journey. He couldn't stop thinking of that first moment when the blood of the ancestors had touched his tongue. At the time, it seemed so insignificant. Now he longed for it, as if it could turn aroun
d all of his bad fortune and make the world whole again. Several times, he attempted to run, but found himself far too weak and kept walking his wobbly shuffle. He began to wonder just how far it was to the nearest living human being. There would be plenty of desert to cross, he was sure. The rational part of his being told him he wouldn't make it before the sun rose. He decided to continue on anyway. Either way he would get what he wanted if it meant his death or someone else’s.
* * *
The roadster's tires squealed as Lotinger barreled down the ramp to get on I-15 North. He was glad the ‘vette had been left with a full tank of gas, considering his trip would likely work out to take much longer than it was supposed to. He had regained his enthusiasm about his mission now and was anticipating his arrival with almost as much pleasure as he had before things changed. He was mentally inventorying the items he would need once he arrived. Lucky for him, he had brought his scope just in case. The fact that he would now have to use it instead of doing the job up close and personal was almost the worst part of the changes the Emperor made to his instructions. He tried to swallow his bitterness and focus on the dimly lit road ahead.
After a while, he zoned out as the beam of the Roadster's headlights flooded over the pavement in front of him. Some of the many faces of his favorite past victims flooded his mind and he relived their murders in his memory, soothing himself into a state of contentment. He thought of his all-time favorite kill, Roger Tresney, and the brilliant look on the man's face as Lotinger strangled the man to death with his bare hands. He hadn't killed many with his hands, and certainly none quite as intimately as Roger. He had broken more than a handful of necks, beaten a man to death, and even drowned a couple of unfortunate souls. But the strangulation had been by far the most intimate of them all. Drowning was a close second, but strangulation had allowed him to not only embrace his victim, but to look into his victim's eyes as he took their life. He had found the moment to be quite moving, feeling an equally tender and erotic emotion beyond any he had felt in any sexual situation in his life. He was vividly remembering the moment when Roger's eyes had glossed over when Lotinger noticed the abandoned truck far too late. It had been hidden by the night and his own memories up until now, but in that split second before he hit it, it was lit up bright green like a giant metallic Christmas tree. Lotinger let off the gas and eased into the brakes, cool under fire, knowing if he slammed them, he would flip the Corvette and surely die. As the Roadster slammed into the truck at nearly fifty miles an hour, Lotinger prayed to his master, knowing it was his will for him to complete his mission. Knowing this gave him absolute confidence that he would survive to do just that.
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