SURVIVAL

by Karen Payton Holt

  Pulling her close and fitting her in to his side, he squared his shoulders. Stepping out of the reception cavern and into full view of the clearing, he announced, “This is my Rebekah.”

  A hiss filled the air as Rebekah’s pale face caught the moonlight. Her heartbeat thundered in her own ears and through the chest of each of the assembled vampires. Her rounded stomach was obvious, and every vampire ear heard the whisper of the child’s heartbeat as an alluring echo.

  “We have our first hybrid pregnancy.” Julian took up the argument. “We can’t ignore what this means.”

  Faced with a sea of shocked ambivalence, a wave of cold apprehension gripped Rebekah, building to a slicing pain as the baby felt it too. Black clouds rolled in to obscure her vision, and she whispered Connor’s name as her knees folded and consciousness left her.

  Connor swooped, effortlessly gathering her up into his arms. Straightening again, holding the precious burden to his chest, he turned and met Julian’s eyes. They both feared this declaration had come too late.

  “She needs a blood transfusion, right now,” barked Connor. Rebekah’s waxy complexion told the tale. Her bone marrow was not making enough blood to feed this hungry baby. “If she is to survive, if this baby is to survive, I need to get her to the hospital, now.”

  Connor glared at Marius and Alexander, and each shocked white face thawed enough to give a sharp nod. Without a second’s pause, Connor crossed to a guardsman, demanded his greatcoat as a blanket for Rebekah and, as fast as he dared, he set off towards London.

  He hurtled through the woodlands holding Rebekah close, cradling her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

  He assessed her trembling frame, and her honeyed scent dragged hunger through him. When he pressed his lips to her forehead, the languid scattering of plump blood cells tingled as a caress, stroking an invitation over his lips. But the sluggishness of the enticing flow tortured him more. Her temperature is dropping. His urge to bite was strangled by the concern twisting his gut when he realized that her blood capillaries were collapsing. She’s going into shock, starving her brain of oxygen.

  The synapses firing inside her head were the firework display of a migraine thundering through her skull. They vibrated through his jaw, littering his own vision with the sparkling dust storm of her pain.

  He accelerated, daring to unleash a little more speed as he surged forward. He was not yet certain the guardsmen would not give chase.

  Marius and Alexanders’ stunned disbelief had given way to curiosity, of that he was certain. Their questions would come thick and fast. He was confident Julian would talk them round, but the unsettling feeling of staring eyes haunted him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. No one is giving chase, so why?

  He scanned the woods urgently, unable to shake the feeling of being followed.

  When Rebekah shuddered in his arms, he shoved paranoia aside and quickened his stride, bursting from the cool green shadows and darting across the gray gloom of a small glade. Slipping between the ghostly white tree trunks of a row of silver birch trees, he changed direction and dived into the darkness, instinctively choosing the protection of the dense canopy.

  Fierce concentration buried his gray eyes in shadow as he dipped his chin and found equal space for the twin tasks of moving fast and monitoring Rebekah’s condition. She’s holding her own, but if the balance tips, I’ll just go for it. He would risk death-defying speed to save her life by any means left to him.

  Sebastian pressed back into the girth of a massive tree trunk. His palms caressed the warm wood and his cheek scraped over the rough surface as he turned his face away from the gusting draft of Connor’s flight. He anchored his fingers into the bark as he resisted the compulsion to hurtle forward in pursuit.

  As the wake of Connor’s passing settled, Sebastian’s good eye squinted after him, tracking his nemesis with accuracy honed by loathing. The sight of Connor holding Rebekah in his arms knotted Sebastian’s features with fury.

  He revealed the location of the nest, and meekly agreed when Captain Laurence instructed him to wait in the guardroom until they returned. But, it had not been difficult to stay downwind of the jurors as he followed on behind, although, his slower, deathly silent progress meant he only heard the battle. And when, finally, he caught sight of the nest and saw the littering of bodies, the walking wounded, and the jurors standing and waiting in the meadow, he could not work out what was happening. The humans could not have fought the vampire guard.

  He had come to watch the scene unfold, to fill his fibers with the scent of Rebekah again, and to see her captured and plan his possession. With the boyfriend gone, I could almost taste her flesh.

  Unease had rattled through Sebastian as he watched Councilor Serge gripping an arm below a shattered shoulder.

  Principal Julian and both jurors radiated expectation. Following the direction of Serge’s glare, he, too, focused on the coal black gash in the hillside. Sebastian watched with disbelief when Connor walked out into the moon light, and to make matters worse, he had more power than before. Rebekah carried his child.

  Sebastian sank back into the thick, broad-leafed foliage before he joined the rank of the toppled vampires the doctor had fought. When Connor appeared, scything a path through the woodlands, Sebastian buried the heat of anger beneath cold calculation. He has bought freedom, not only for himself, but for Rebekah and his brat. His eyes bored into Connor’s back as he whisked by, and his plans for the doctor’s death took shape. But not before he has seen Rebekah and his child die.

  Chapter 25

  The terrain became more challenging, and Connor swung through the dense undergrowth oblivious of the brambles snatching at his clothes and dragging barbs across his cheeks. Tucking her head into his shoulder, Connor covered Rebekah’s face with his hand, protecting her from the thorns and keeping the chill of the rushing air at bay.

  Without warning, the feeling of being watched, again bit into Connor’s skin, and he lost his focus for a nanosecond. An impenetrable thicket of ground elder interrupted his flow, its clustered mass reaching up from the charcoal depths. The soft boggy ground sucked at his feet and, instinctively, he launched into a forceful leap, crouching low to absorb the impact of landing.

  The jarring motion rattled through Rebekah, her gasping breath scalding his neck as she groaned loudly. The baby wrestled in protest, his tumbling weight bouncing off the hard wall of Connor’s stomach, and bruising the fragile canvas of Rebekah’s stretched skin.

  Connor felt one of Rebekah’s ribs crack – sounding like a gunshot to his keen ear – and guilt punched through his center. His gaze stabbed through the trees, calculating time and distance, and the clouded ice of bleak determination lit his eyes. Almost there.

  He left the soft ground of the woodlands in favor of a gray ribbon of asphalt and moved through the outskirts of London, his effortless coordination smoothing out the bumps along the miles of uneven sidewalk.

  Becoming aware of a vampire bearing down upon him, this time, he knew it was real. Julian has caught me up. He heard the whisper of Julian’s long stride, with his gait, speed, and rhythm playing like a familiar tune through Connor’s chest.

  “About time,” Connor threw over his shoulder.

  “I’ll have to get you to carry a pregnant woman more often,” Julian quipped. “It slows you down some.”

  “Her rib has cracked. I need to get her to the theater suite in case...” Connor cut off the words. His thoughts hit a brick wall that he did not want to see past.

  Julian’s frown reflected Connor’s concern. “I’ll go on ahead and warn Anthony to get things ready.”

  As he accelerated away, Connor shouted, “Tell him we will come in through the side entrance. Through the morgue.”

  ‘Through the morgue’ was a torturous string of words and, as he flicked his glance down at Rebekah’s face, the mud brown delirium in her gaze was not reassuring. Shadowing Julian’s path, Connor calculated his arrival in mic
rons and milliseconds.

  Connor visualized the environs of his theater, recounting and discarding the surgical tools laid out in drawers and on trolleys, before swearing under his breath. “Damn it. I can’t even scare up the basics. A gynaecology kit and some sutures left over from the last human examination in the hospital, maybe...” He knew without doubt that he did not have anesthetic, sedatives, or even an analgesic.

  She’ll need all those. He had no control over the sharp jabs of movement deep inside her. He felt powerless when the cracked rib moved in an unexpected vertical direction, tearing the intercostal muscle, and she groaned.

  Connor glued an assessing gaze onto Rebekah’s face and forged ahead to maximum speed without missing a beat. Each vibration through her bones caused her to frown and her lashes to flicker. He gauged the coma scale as eight. A midpoint reading is reassuring. But it mustn’t drop below six.

  The medulla controlled respiration, heartbeat, and vascular reflexes. Connor inhaled deeply, and mapped the electrical activity which flared as hot spots inside her brain. Only brainstem damage will interrupt those reflexes. Her reduced blood supply and oxygen levels could lead to precisely that. She needs a blood transfusion, now!

  The wind tunnel effect when he hugged the hospital wall snatched at Connor’s coat-tails as he took the shortest route around the building. The polished marble reflected their image and, in Connor’s tainted imagination, he saw a carrion crow carrying a corpse.

  Here we go. He reeled around and, at full tilt, barged his way backwards through the door and into the morgue, his broad shoulders absorbing the impact of the collision.

  His movement through the familiar space inside was a blur. He dodged smoothly around the linen hampers, and pounding on each pair of sheet-metal doors with a swift double jab of a clenched fist cleared them out of his way; he left a five knuckled imprint in each.

  He was out of sight before the doors ricocheted from the walls and showered crushed plaster onto the waxed linoleum floor.

  Inside the operating suite, he zeroed in on Anthony’s serious face and delivered a barrage of information, a forceful measured stride across the room punctuating each item on the list.

  “Anthony, get to the human farm. I need a gynie kit. I need scalpels: sharp-edged blades for muscle, blunt-edged blades for the uterine wall. Sutures. Anesthetic. Sedatives. Epidural block kit. Amniotic needle and muscle relaxant.” Connor looked down into Rebekah’s face as he forced the words out. “But first, we need type matched blood, and lots of it.”

  Julian frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. So, not just a case of dropping by the dispensary and commandeering blood then?” The naiveté of his thoughts brought a grim smile to the principal’s face.

  Connor shook his head. “If Rebekah was AB positive, we’d be home free, universal recipient. Fortunately for us, the four blood groups taste different.”

  Julian’s raised brows said ‘really’? “I can't say that I’ve noticed. Each human tastes different, sure. But blood groups?”

  Connor laughed. “It’s only important when doing surgery on humans. Its part of the job, like being a wine connoisseur, the protein molecules in each blood group are different. They stick to blood cells as antigens, or are in suspension as antibodies, according to the blood type. Type ‘O’ blood cells are smooth like tapioca. The antigens coating A, B and AB blood cells gives them a textured surface. It’s just a matter of knowing the subtle differences.”

  There was more to it, involving the parietal lobe of the vampire brain, but, looking at Julian, Connor decided to stop there. ‘Awestruck’ was the word that came to mind.

  “If you sampled the recipient, it’s easier to match it. The problem is shock has reduced Rebekah’s blood flow, and her capillaries are collapsing.”

  Connor refocused his attention on Anthony who was clearly memorizing his list of instructions. “Anthony?”

  “Yes, Doctor Connor.”

  “Rebekah’s blood type is B-positive, so the donor has to be blood groups B or O, positive or negative.” Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Before the pandemic the chances were sixty percent, but now, who knows. Anthony, without taking a sample from her... ” Connor’s chin dipped, indicating Rebekah’s slackened body. “can you cross match blood by taste with one hundred percent accuracy? Because if you make a mistake the haemoglobin rush will kill her.”

  Anthony shook his head. “I can’t guarantee it, no.”

  Connor was torn by relief. He knew he would not have trusted this to Anthony’s palette in any case. As the flow of conversation stalled, Connor laid Rebekah gently down onto a padded emergency-room trolley, perfectly placed for the dash to theater which he dreaded would come.

  “I don’t want to leave her, Julian.”

  He placed a cushion under Rebekah’s knees, easing the tension of the taut skin over her distended stomach. Connor’s grip closed around her wrist. “Her pulse is thready.” Smoothing his hand over the baby he could feel the undulating edge of the fetus’ spine, and moving to the left he found the heartbeat. “One hundred and ninety five beats a minute, so the baby is struggling, too.”

  Connor hissed as a surge of electricity stung his hand and shot up his arm. The nerve endings in the baby’s body lit up, releasing a storm of static energy as the small body jerked and tiny muscles went into spasm.

  Rebekah’s eyes snapped open and she screamed. The shrieking note rose to the screeching pitch of a diamond cutting glass. A sickening crack rent the air, and her body folded around the baby as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

  “Anthony!” Connor’s voice spliced fear and confidence into a command that galvanized action. “Here, brace your hands either side of her chest, support it. Now.”

  Standing at Rebekah’s head, Anthony slipped his hands in under her arms and held her ribcage still.

  “Revival sleep, Anthony. Don’t crack anymore ribs.” Connor’s warning was directed at Julian, too, as he jerked his head, calling him forward.

  “What should I do?” said Julian.

  “Support her pelvis and keep her spine straight.”

  Rebekah’s scream still bounced from the walls as Connor pressed his lips to her forehead, and they stung as though her gray skin was made of hot ash. “Stay with me, honey.”

  Connor vanished, and as the shoved door banged closed and followed a pendulum swing back into the room, he returned, shouldering his way back in again. He carried a syringe filled with amber fluid, fitted with an amniotic needle, in one hand, and was dragging a trolley holding an ultra sound machine behind him. Swishing the trolley around into the room, he tossed a tube of conductive gel at Julian’s head. “Cover her stomach with that, and Anthony, don’t let go.”

  Julian smeared the gel over the swell of the baby, and Rebekah moaned as his fingers streaked bruises over her skin and the baby fought inside her.

  “Okay,” said Connor.

  He nudged Julian aside to run the ultra sound sensor over her abdomen, and his eyes were drawn to the monitor. Seconds later, he lined up the syringe and pushed the needle through her belly and into the baby. Watching the image on the monitor, Connor advanced the needle through the ghosting grays and whites of the image, and into the tiny chest cavity. He depressed the plunger and a spider web of black ink lines spread in a filigreed network throughout the baby until the tiny body stopped moving.

  “You’ve killed it,” Julian whispered.

  “No.” Anthony looked at Connor’s severe expression. “It’s muscle relaxant.”

  Connor was intent on running the probe over Rebekah’s skin and frowning at the monitor. “The dose was thirty millilitres. The heartbeat is slow, but at least the baby can no longer bite.”

  “Bite?” said Julian.

  Connor nodded. “Rebekah needs blood, the umbilical cord is dehydrating and the baby’s starving. This is the final stage, and I think he’s in grave sleep now.” Connor’s finger outlined a plumed cloud on the monitor screen. “He has bitten the uterine wall.
That’s a bleed. He’s feeding.”

  The needle was still in place, with the syringe barrel rocking gently in time with the panting breaths racking Rebekah’s body. “Julian, do what you can. Try ten millilitres at a time. Keep her alive.” Connor’s gray eyes were calm. “If the baby dies... ”

  Julian stared at Rebekah, and said, “She won’t die. I won’t let that happen.”

  “I’ll be gone less than half an hour. The siphoning sheds should be full, and I just have to cross match the blood. Anthony, the medical center is well stocked with antiseptic, iodine and SteriPacks. I’ll leave that to you. We’ll meet back here when you’re done.”

  Connor was already moving towards the door, drawing Anthony along behind him. Finally committed to leaving her, he launched himself forward in a desperate effort to outrun the demons of time and uncertainty.

  Focusing on what he had to do now, Connor tried not to think further than that. He tried not to let the doubts crowd in, and to think of Rebekah’s life as sand in an hour glass slipping through his fingers. How much time is left?

  Anthony took up a flanking position on Connor’s shoulder as they left London and headed west, out to the farm.

  Without looking around, Connor issued his final instructions. “Stay with me until we are inside, and then get the job done and get back to Julian as fast as you can.”

  They skimmed effortlessly across the moonlit expanse of meadowland, the grass rippling beneath their feet like waves on an oil black sea. The mammoth siphoning sheds skulking in the distance dominated the scene as they bore down upon the run of meshed-wire fencing blocking their path, and both vampires reluctantly reined in their speed.

  No matter how many times he visited the human farm, the air of despair and desolation always hit Connor in the gut. The immaculate vista of lawns beyond the first perimeter was interrupted by two other fences. The sturdy metal fabric marched across the landscape, secured to tall metal posts which reached up into the starlit sky. It marked the end of a carefree existence, and the beginning of having every movement logged and questioned, in both vampires and humans.