AfterAge

by Yvonne Navarro

  Vic's deepest secret, so easily plucked from his mind.

  "Mistress!" Hugh cried as he rounded the corner. He ran to her, dropped to his knees, and hugged her feet. "What can I do for you?" he begged. "just tell me—anything!"

  Anyelet stepped away from his clutching hands and motioned him up. Immortality had not been kind to Hugh: his ancient face was drawn tight, The Hunger stretching his mouth and eyebrows taut while his fingers were little more than steel twigs with razored ends. He pushed to his feet and beamed, lost in his own mind and humming, then smiling with childlike pleasure when she opened her arms.

  "You'll be my friend?" he asked happily.

  "Of course," Anyelet said as she drew the old man into her strong embrace. She smiled evilly.

  "What else?"

  3

  REVELATION 2:2

  I know how thou canst not bear them which are evil. . . .

  ~ * ~

  Alex was coming down the stairs.

  She could sense him in the rhythm of the heartbeat she could already hear. He wasn't alone; the second set of footsteps, quiet as a cat, belonged to that boy who wisely chose a compound bow as his weapon. Others waited at the top of the stairs so that Alex might have some privacy with their guinea pig, the doctor among them, fidgeting in his eagerness to play his medical games with her body, as though she were a toy that felt no pain.

  Deb squeezed her eyes shut. Didn't they realize?

  The bars were thrown on the door and thin light spilled into the room. "Deb?" Alex's voice was hoarse.

  "I'm here." Her response was cold. "Where's the doctor?"

  Alex hesitated. "Upstairs. You—you don't have to do this."

  She stepped out of the corner blackness, her presence enough to silence him and make C.J. finger the bow as the distance between them dwindled to only a few feet. "Yes, I do."

  She was on C.J. before he could breathe, the bow in her left hand as her right easily lifted the snarling teenager from the floor. She dropped him with a little shove that made him stumble backward, then tossed him his weapon. One flight above, the panicked doctor and the ethers clambered down the stairs.

  "It's okay!" Alex yelled shakily. The footsteps faltered. “Just give us a minute!"

  "Do you see?" she hissed. Her eyes were glittering Its in the flashlight glow. She grabbed his collar just long enough to give him a single, hard shake. "Do you see what I've become?"

  "I could be like you." C.J. gasped as Alex stretched his hand out, but she slapped it away.

  "You dart want that." Her face, so pretty to begin with, was exquisite in its icy pallor as she motioned to her belly. "There's nothing here but a black, hungry hole." She turned her back, her pain too great to share. "You don’t know what this is like. It blots out the most precious memories, and nothing compares—not drugs, starvation, not even desire. It's all that and more, rolled into a dark, ugly addiction that never, ever leaves you." She laughed bitterly. "I even dream in red!"

  "Deb—"

  "Don't touch me!" She twisted away. "Don’t ever touch me!" She glared at them. “And don’t come down any more with less than four people, and always be armed!"

  "But you wouldn't . . ."

  "Oh, wouldn't I?"

  Alex stared at her, then whirled and stormed up the stairs with C.J. backing out of the room after him. She heard the babble of voices above, then the clang of the bars as C.J. locked her in.

  Then there was only the darkness to comfort her

  4

  REVELATION 21:4

  For the former things are passed away.

  ~ * ~

  It was ironic, Vic thought, that he had spent his entire night searching the building and skulking along the streets around it, hunting for Hugh as the old man continually carried on his blinded search for Vic's mother and Vic himself.

  He ran a hand through his hair and peered at the shadows by the river's edge. His father should have been here by now, looking for Tisbee, never recognizing Vic, waiting for an easy meal. He scowled as he remembered Anyelet’s mindrape of last night; it was obvious she'd discovered that Hugh was Vic's father, but then what? It would serve no purpose for her to harm Hugh—except, perhaps, to strike at Vic.

  Damn her, he seethed. With Deb gone, the only thing he cared about in this world was that stupid old man, and the thought that Deb may have already created her own dark lover made him tremble with jealousy. A wave of sickness hit and he staggered, then stumbled back toward the Mart's refuge of dark rooms. Dawn's pink light was leaking into the sky, making this morning the closest Vic had come to seeing the sun since the day before Anyelet had killed him. But he could close his eyes and till see its burning brightness in his mind.

  His huge fists clenched and unclenched despite the weariness seeping through him as he slipped into the back stairwell. After all this time, was his father truly dead?

  If so, perhaps Anyelet would like to see the fatal beauty of the sun for herself.

  5

  REVELATION 13:3

  And her deadly wound was healed;

  and all the world wondered after the beast.

  ~ * ~

  Silent blackness, like floating deep in a midnight ocean. Calie's whisper seemed amplified a thousandfold. "This is unbelievably dangerous, Bill."

  It was the first time she'd ever said his name without the "Doctor," so frightened was she that she'd forgotten her own joking formality. Perlman stretched his hands timidly along the wall; he knew the route by memory, but he'd traveled it in the dark only once before, during Alex's visit. Now it was nearing midnight.

  "How're we doing?" McDole asked quietly from behind.

  "We can almost use the flashlight," Perlman answered. "Careful here, eight steps going down." Every instinct screamed that they should all be barricaded in for the night, not crawling through Northwestern's basement like blind lizards in a subterranean cave, yet if his research was to continue, he had no choice. "You people shouldn't have come," he murmured. "I could have done this without putting everyone else in jeopardy."

  "No way, man." C.J.'s voice drifted to him. "Besides, remember what she said—no less than four people at a time."

  "This must be terrible for Alex," Louise said softly from her place in front of C.J. "No wonder he decided to stay upstairs."

  "Was it bad for him earlier, C.J.?" Calie asked.

  For a few seconds there was no reply. "Yeah,” he finally said. "Yeah, it was."

  "I'm switching on the light," Perlman announced. "Cover your eyes." The sudden glow of the flashlight made the hallway more ominous, as though shapes danced just beyond the small circle of light.

  "You're sure the light can't be seen?" McDole asked nervously.

  "Positive. We're in the center of the building below street level. It's uncomfortable to be moving around at night, though."

  C.J. snorted. "Uncomfortable? Jesus, Doc. Even I could think of a better word than that."

  "Ten steps down to the shelter," Perlman warned. "Ready?" C.J. moved to his side and cocked the bow. At his nod, the doctor pulled the bars free and opened the door.

  "I've been waiting for you."

  Perlman shivered; Deb's voice was like a blast of cold air. He swallowed and spoke. "I'm going to turn on the spotlight, all right?" He waited a few moments, then hit the ON button.

  She looked ghastly. Since their earlier visit, the skin across her cheekbones and nose had tightened perceptibly, sinking into deep hollows next to her mouth. Her pallor was so pronounced that he had to squint to be sure she had skin at all, and blue veins wandered across her face and hands like fine ink trails disappearing beneath the neck and sleeves of her clothes. She resembled something from a 1920s silent movie: black wig and alabaster makeup around a red slash of lips and soulless eyes.

  Deb kept her gaze downcast, but her words were heavy with sarcasm. "If you want to get anywhere in this research of yours, Doctor, I suggest you stop being so nervous around your . . . just what am I? Your patient?" he grinned a
nd he saw that her teeth were revoltingly long and sharp, and as blinding white as a young dog’s. Her smile evaporated. "What should I do?"

  Perlman glanced at the others. He suddenly felt like a mad scientist hovering over a poor, helpless victim, though his "victim" could effortlessly kill them all, regardless of C.J. "I . . . I'd like a tissue sample, please, a scraping from inside your mouth." He stepped toward her hesitantly with a wooden stick, but she snatched it from his grip.

  "I'll do it." An instant later she handed him back the moistened stick and he sealed it into a plastic bag. "What else?"

  This was very hard. He'd spent the last eighteen months, except for a few days with the vampire child, convinced that vampires were walking corpses, and as such could be sliced and dissected at will.

  Right.

  "I need a piece of skin," he blurted.

  Deb laughed. "Is that all?" She raised an arm and pushed back her sleeve, revealing a roadmap of harsh blue veins. Perlman fought nausea as she sank two fingernails into the skin, curled them under, and pulled free an inch-wide chunk of flesh. "Watch," she commanded, and held out her arm. In spite of himself, Perlman was fascinated to see the newly opened wound meshing rapidly, growing edge to edge as though an invisible darning machine were busily filling in the hole. In the thirty seconds it took to seal the scrap of skin in a bag, the bloodless injury was gone.

  Deb turned to face the wall. "No one asked how I . . . died," she said quietly. "I fought, you know. Killed one and mutilated another so badly that even being undead won't fix her." She looked at the floor, then thoughtfully ran a hand along her side. "Broke a couple of ribs during the fight, but they're healed." She raised her face suddenly. "Do you know that there are people being held in the Merchandise Mart?"

  McDole looked startled, but nodded. "Can you tell us anything that will help us free them?"

  Deb shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Not much. They're on the third floor, chained in little rooms. There's a fat man watching them during the day. I don't know if he's armed."

  C.J. spoke up. "Is there a key ring or something?"

  "No. The leader of the group is a woman named Anyelet. She chains them up, then tosses each key into the river."

  "I knew it was too much to hope for," McDole muttered.

  "How many are there?" asked Louise.

  "Vampires or people? I have no idea of either," Deb answered. "I never saw anyone there but the man who did this to me. Everything I know comes from him. Ten, twenty, a bunch." Even with her gaze fixed on the floor, Perlman thought he saw red lights of hunger burning in her eyes. "You should get them out."

  No one said anything for a minute. "Well," the physician said at last, "what I'm going to do now is give you something to . . . eat, then take another sample and see if—“

  "That’s out of the question," Deb said flatly.

  The doctor scowled. "The research won’t be complete if we don't. We could miss something vital—I have to be able to see how blood affects your body, what kind of change it causes."

  "I'll tell you what it'll do!" Deb snapped. "It’ll push me right over the edge, that's what. I can smell each one of you, and I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks. You think this is easy?" She waved her hand. "I see the way you all look at me, like I'm something dirty." She hugged herself so hard her fingers nearly punctured her skin. "Well, I am. But I won't let you make me any worse."

  "But—"

  McDole cut him off. "Let it go, Bill. What if she feeds, then . . . you know." He looked unhappily at the others.

  Calie nodded. "Try working with what you have now," he suggested. "If you need more, we'll talk about it then."

  "It's not open for discussion," Deb said icily.

  "I meant we'd find another way," Calie said smoothly. She took Perlman's arm. "Let's let her alone now. I'm sure us being in here is probably a strain."

  Perlman opened his mouth to argue, then shut it abruptly. Protesting was useless; it was obvious the others would overrule him. Besides, he was again enveloped with the absurd notion that they all thought him some sort of maniacal backer. "All right."

  They shuffled out, C.J. waiting with the bow while Perlman pulled the door shut and reengaged the bars. Just before the metal door met the frame, Perlman thought he heard Deb whisper something and paused automatically, then slid the bars into place. He climbed the stairs bemusedly behind his mute companions. What had she said? Something like,

  By all means, leave me alone. . . .

  VI

  March 28

  Enlightenment

  1

  REVELATION 11:6

  And have power over waters to turn them to blood . . .

  REVELATION 9:1

  And to him was given the key to the bottomless pit.

  ~ * ~

  Perlman had been awake for hours.

  He was more at home here at Northwestern and had risen and felt his way through the darkness to wait outside his old lab until it was light enough to enter. All his notes were here, carted back yesterday when Deb had been placed in the bomb shelter; by sunrise he'd been rereading the most important ones and now he flipped absently through his notebook. He really needed to draw a half-pint of blood and put it in the shelter for Deb to drink when she awoke, but the others would never agree. How was he to accomplish anything without cooperation? All he could do was keep trying to strengthen the bacteria. He had isolated the toxic substance that helped, ironically, to keep vampires from visibly decomposing. How many times had that smell permeated his clothes during med school? The answer should have been obvious; perhaps formaldehyde had simply been too easy.

  He'd never seen Clostridium survive a formaldehyde immersion, yet he couldn't give up. So far his cultures were strong and successful, but only until he introduced them to a piece of vampire flesh. Then they . . . changed. They stopped living, but he couldn't say they died because they, like the vampire, never decomposed. They just ceased to function. He leaned back and stretched. Did the answer lie in feeding Deb or was that only another blind turn? It was certainly worth a try.

  "No, it's not worth it at all."

  Perlman's breath jammed in his throat then released as he jerked upright. "How did you get in here?" he demanded.

  Jo sat daintily on the edge of the doctor's desk. "Do you think Deb's soul is worth the price of your curiosity?" The girl's face had a strange glow in the growing northern light as she smiled sadly. "You've heard of Pandora's box, I assume."

  Bill gestured angrily at the piles of papers on his desk and the culture dishes with their failed contents along the countertop. "Well, I'd welcome a different suggestion," he snapped. "Or maybe you'd prefer to explain to my uncomprehending mind just what it is about a vampire's dead body that enables it to invisibly manufacture a toxin which nullifies any decomposition bacteria it encounters." He slammed his palm on the desktop. "I'd love to have your input."

  “All right," Jo said. Oblivious to his anger, she wandered to the far end of the cultures and peered at the dishes that still contained living cultures. "It won't make any difference to your work if you force Deb to feed." She glanced at him, her stone-gray eyes unreadable. "Except it will destroy her. For eternity." She picked up the nearest Petri dish.

  "Hey," the physician protested. "Put that down."

  "The Bible tells us that bread is the staff of life," Jo commented. She set the dish back on the countertop and looked speculatively at the equipment around them, then pulled a small golden flask from her pocket and held it up for Perlman to see. "But what is flour and yeast without water? No more than a fine white powder—with potential."

  Bill frowned. "I don't follow." He had thought that Calie, with her unsettling sense of second sight and quiet, almost desperate passion was the strangest woman he'd ever met; now he realized how naive that assumption had been.

  "That's what you have here," Jo said patiently. "Powder, in the form of your germs—"

  "Bacteria."

  "Bacteria. You just lack
the proper ingredient, or catalyst, to get it going."

  Bill gave an exasperated sigh. "You're not making sense. You don't know anything about bacteria or how they grow. Bacteria require a medium that's conducive for growth and reproduction. A source of carbon, vitamins and salts, oxygen—"

  "Exactly," Jo interrupted. "You're growing your bacteria in the wrong medium. Try this instead."

  "What is it?"

  She gave him a sidelong glance. "Water, of course. From St. Peter's."

  "You're kidding." When she didn't answer, he glared at her. "I don't have time to play corny games, young lady. Your belief is touching, but I need results, not faith." He folded his arms. "Maybe you think I'm cruel, but the only way I can see to progress is to feed that woman in the bomb shelter and see what kind of metabolic changes take place."

  Jo smiled ruefully and unscrewed the flask's top. "You won't even try it? I thought scientists would try anything."

  "It won't work," he insisted. "Not only is it a waste of time, it'll ruin a perfectly good culture. Not enough of those things I mentioned a moment ago are present in simple H2O. This kind of bacteria uses dead organic matter as a food source, not water."

  "I realize that," Jo said gently, and for a crazy instant he believed she knew exactly what he was talking about. “All you need is something to get it going."

  "Exactly. And water just isn't it."

  She turned her back to him and leaned on the counter, looking down at Perlman's cultures. "Well," she said at length, "let's try just one, shall we?" Her slender fingers quickly twisted the top from the closest dish.