"We could be free of the vampires within a month."
Disintegration
5
REVELATION 9:21
Neither repented they of their murders. . . .
~ * ~
"Fucking liar anyway!" Rita screeched.
The small mirror shattered as she brought her hands together with a crack! then flung the pieces aside. She felt around the long countertop until her fingers found something else—a drawer—and pulled it open. She stared uncomprehendingly at the lengths of stainless steel for a few seconds before her fogged brain told her what they were and where she was. Carving knives . . . of course. She was in one of the deli restaurants on the second floor.
Rita frowned. What was she doing here? No matter; she lifted a ten-inch blade and examined it. For a moment she imagined she saw her reflection dance along its length, just as she could have sworn she'd seen herself in the pocket mirror. If I'd had one of these, she decided, that bitch wouldn't have gotten me. Why hadn't Anyelet listened? Her lips pulled back and she stifled a cry at the pain that shot through her cheek. To show pain was a sign of weakness, and that would never do; anger, though, had always been impossible for her to hide.
Rita tucked the knife into her belt and sidled out of the restaurant while her fingers caressed her face, trailing over the lumpy scar tissue that had formed over the dirt, grease, and gunpowder embedded in the surface, sinking occasionally into a few still-open spots that continuously trickled moisture down her blouse. I'll change clothes, she decided. Then I'll get a phone book and find a plastic surgeon. After all, I run a modeling agency and I have to reflect my clients—it’s all so damned competitive now. She skittered across the corridor and leapt the last of the steps. That mirror, she told herself, had been . . . mistaken. Something had been wrong with it, a manufacturing flaw that had caused it to wickedly hide her reflection. She would stop and get a new one at the drugstore, one that wouldn't—
She tilted her head at a noise, trying to refocus her thoughts, then smacked the flat of her palm against her forehead in impatience, the pain of the blow causing a low growl in her throat. There was no agency, not since the night she'd crossed paths with that redheaded demon two years ago in Mother's, a Rush Street area bar. A half-dozen drinks and Rita had left with the seductive, deadly woman, taking the first steps of her one-way trip to hell. And was that Anyelet now? She had a few things to say to that slut, all right, and she'd start with a pointed reminder of her suggestion about weapons. Someone coughed and Rita grimaced; not Anyelet at all, but Siebold, lumbering around like an overweight, overstuffed penguin. Another disgusting bodily sound as he stepped out of a side hall, then froze. He turned to hurry away.
"Wait!" she commanded. He stopped, flinching when she circled him as he stared at his dirty shoes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Spying on me? Did Anyelet tell you to?"
"No," Siebold said quickly. "I was just g-going up to look in on the people, that's all."
"Yeah," she sneered. "Gonna give some lucky lady the pleasure of your company tonight, huh?" Once so immaculate, Rita flicked a filthy fingernail beneath his chin. "And what's this? Big man with a little gun?" She laughed nastily as she poked at a small semi-automatic in the front of his belt. Howard said nothing, but an idea suddenly sparked in Rita's mind. She grabbed his shoulders and twisted him to face her. "Look at me. I said look at me! Tell me what I look like."
He glanced hastily at her face and back down again. "You look . . . all right."
Rita stopped, uncertain, then relaxed her grip and patted his arm. "Come on . . . Howard. You don’t have to be afraid. I've always admired honesty in a person—you know how I always say what’s on my mind. I respect that in another person. And, of course, I'm not having much luck trying to use a mirror. Help me out."
"You look fine, really," he insisted.
"Don't lie to me!" she screamed suddenly. She pushed her face close to his and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "If you don’t open your eyes and tell me the truth, you fat, fucking worm, I'll rip them out with my fingernails!"
”All right!" he yelled. He scrambled backward, her insult making the words spill recklessly from his mouth. "It looks pretty bad, okay? Like ground meat!" Sweat beaded on his forehead then streamed to his collar, and he fumbled the Uzi out and aimed it threateningly. "But remember you told me to be honest! You told me to!"
"Yes, I did," Rita said sweetly.
She crossed the space between them in less than a second and buried the knife in his gut. He squealed and squeezed the trigger spastically, the spray of bullets catching Rita across her chest and collarbone but not stopping her. Still, they hurt and she made him pay, cackling at his shrill scream when she twisted the blade and heaved upward, splitting his rib cage from sternum to throat. His blood, thick and red and repulsively plentiful, spurted in a dozen directions but Rita ignored it. She yanked the carving knife free and watched Siebold fall heavily to the floor atop his stupid, pathetic gun, a corpulent, sodden mass.
"Fucking liar."
6
REVELATION 19:18
That ye may eat the flesh of men . . .
~ * ~
Bloodsmell.
It hit Anyelet as soon as she entered the main corridor, drew her irresistibly to the far end where a group of her soldiers were jostling each other for a spot on a body sprawled across the floor. Mingling with the smell of fresh blood were other scents, too: grease, dirt, sweat—
Siebold.
"Who did this?" She waded through the cluster, yanking them back from their places by whatever was handy, an arm, a handful of hair, anything. Ron was holding a small Uzi clear of the mess while he suckled heartily on a spot of flesh squeezing through the torn fabric covering one knee; another idiot, Werner, literally had his face buried in the hole of the dead man’s chest. She pulled him up and flung him aside with a sound of disgust.
Werner wiped his face on his sleeve, smearing the gore down his arm. "We don’t know, Mistress." The others murmured in agreement. "We found him like this." He pointed to the slash that ran from Siebold's neck to his crotch and giggled. "Field-dressed!"
Anyelet scowled and dismissed them. "Go back to your feast." They fell hungrily on the body and she moved away. Rita? Probably; it was a waste of a good breeder, though the man had been an annoying shit and caused more grief than he was worth. Now there was only one other person who could be trusted to guard the humans during the day.
~ * ~
"Good evening, Stephen." Anyelet set a candle next to the door.
He said nothing, merely watched her watch him.
"Where's Siebold?" he asked at last. "He comes around for his final check at dusk."
"Howard is . . . indisposed." She glided to his side and touched his cheek; he jerked away. "Why do you fight?" she asked when he shut his eyes. He stood there, shoulders rigid as he waited. She smiled slyly and dropped her hand. "Howard won't be coming back."
Stephen's face lifted. "What?"
"Would you like to do some of the good you're always whining about?" she continued. "You could care for these people during the day." She faced him. "I want you to take his place."
Stephen's face went scarlet. "Don't fool yourself, Anyelet. I may whore myself for you, but I'll never be your in-house rapist."
“Of course not," she said easily. "I'm just offering you a limited type of freedom." His eyebrows raised and she nodded. "Come and go as you please during the day, darling. No chains. I'll trust you to return each night."
"Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why should I?"
She shrugged. "If you don't, you'll spend the rest of your life knowing you abandoned these people when you could have helped them. No one else stands between them and us." Her eyes glittered wildly in the candle flame. "It makes no difference to me. One of my soldiers can easily handle this chore. Of course, it’s not likely we'll be as receptive to their needs." She ran her tongue over sharp, white teeth. "Howard made two of the women here pregnant
, you know." Stephen's expression filled with horror and Anyelet chuckled. "We were quite pleased." She stepped to the door and picked up the candle. "I thought your care would be better, but if you'd rather not . . .”
"Wait! I—I'll do it—on one condition."
Anyelet glowered at him. "I make the rules, Stephen. Be very careful when you tell me your ‘condition.’”
He stared at the floor. "I just want you to stop . . . touching me. Like you do."
She laughed heartily. “As you wish. I've grown bored with you anyway." She stepped out the door, then turned and gave him a wry smile. "Interesting," she said, “I didn't think you'd be strong enough to ever say that."
~ * ~
Well, Anyelet thought, Stephen won't be much good at defending the cache of food, but at least he'll take better care of them. Short of cutting off their feet, she didn't believe he was resourceful enough to free them. There was still the problem of breeding, but it was a minor one; cut off from her, Stephen would probably end up as horny as Howard, though not so brutal. Besides, once he cleaned those people up, it would be easy to entice one of the males with a less-than-savory mind into indulging. It always was.
She wandered thoughtfully downstairs and stared at Howard's body, drained and pasty-faced in death, his skin pocked with bite marks. She should tell someone to get it out of here and dump it in the river, then gather a group to search a few of the nearby buildings. That odd-looking State of Illinois Center was a possibility, or the courthouse. She shrugged; except for an occasional moan from the third floor, the Mart was silent. Rita and Vic had disappeared, and the cluster of soldiers who'd glutted themselves on Howard's blood were probably sprawled sluggishly in their rooms. She turned and went back to the main lobby, her thoughts of the other night returning. This so-called "army" was useless—lazy, disorganized, and above all, disobedient, a group of sad and ignorant stragglers. She would grant them this one last night of indolence, but that was all. Then there would be a change for the better, or she would destroy them all and start over.
Perhaps her first new companion would be the holy man himself.
7
REVELATION 2:11
She that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death.
~ * ~
"Please . . . don't."
Alex stepped inside the door of the bomb shelter. "You were here while I was sleeping," Deb whispered. "I felt you."
"Yes." He took another small step.
"Why did you come back?" Her voice was thick and bubbly, her lungs clotted with liquid.
“I . . .”He couldn't answer.
She laughed sadly. "You came to say good-bye."
He didn't turn on the spotlight this time. Instead he set his flashlight on the bottom step outside, giving only enough illumination to make out her location. He wanted to remember her as she had been, not as this terrible smell proved she was now. He sucked a breath in through his mouth and moved closer; her eyes, watery and red, were the only thing that showed clearly. He didn't know what to say.
"It hurts, Alex," she whimpered suddenly. "I didn't expect it to hurt this much."
"Oh, sweetheart." Before she could protest, he was kneeling at her side. "I'm so sorry."
"It's a success, right?" Every attempt to speak was a gurgling, fluid-filled moan. "You guys'll be all right now?"
"Yes." He put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her onto his lap, his heart kicking when her skin shifted sickeningly under his hand. Everything about her was wet and bloated; what had they done to his beautiful onetime lover?
"I didn't want you to come. I wanted you to remember . . . you know."
He surrendered to the tears filling his eyes. "I do," he assured her. His throat was trying to lock up on him. “And I always will." It was true; his mind's eye showed him a reelful of shots: Deb when he'd first met her, holding him at gunpoint with her face frightened and determined; Deb sitting across from him at Marshall Field's, laughing as she ate pickled eggs; Deb yet again, her expression glowing with passion as their bodies entwined in the moonlight. "I love you," he said hoarsely.
"I love you too," she said gently. She gazed up at him and he felt his heart crack as the reddish lights in her eyes visibly dimmed. All traces of the hungry thing that had tried so hard to claim her had fled. Her mouth was a darker slash against the blotched gray shadows of her face.
"Bury me in the sun, Alex," she said clearly. And she was gone.
Alex hung his head and sobbed.
8
REVELATION 13:15
And cause that as many as would
not worship the beast should be killed . . .
~ * ~
"Oh, no," Vic said brokenly.
The smell of death had brought him in. The hope he'd experienced when he'd found Howard's body in the hallway faded as he realized that the fat man’s corpse was too fresh to give out the scent of decay he was picking up. Since Hugh only entered the building when someone else was inside, last night Vic had barely glanced at the lobby before taking his search outside. Had his father, skull and torso crushed beyond repair, been stuffed so carelessly between these display cases even then? He raised his head wearily and his gaze found Anyelet, lounging on a couch a dozen yards away, her expression smug.
He crossed the distance and stood over her. "He was just an old man," he said furiously. "He was my father."
"He was your punishment," Anyelet pointed out. "The next time, you will be loyal to me before you indulge in foolish sympathies." She rose, her eyes flashing. "You belong to me, Vic. I made you."
"What is that?" he spat. "Some kind of big deal? I belong to myself. You're nothing but a cold, vicious bitch who kills for the fun of it!"
She threw back her head and laughed loudly. "I never claimed otherwise! You're the one harboring grand delusions of humanity! You're a vampire—start acting like one!"
Vic turned his back. "I should kill you," he said quietly.
"What!" Her mouth fell open and she jerked him around to face her. "How dare you—"
He punched her, watching as though he were someone else as the knuckles of his fist met her jaw with all of his strength. Anyelet hurtled through the air, brightly colored clothes making her look absurdly like a tossed beach ball. She crashed against the far wall at shoulder height, then slid down and sat there, stunned and stuttering.
"She-bitch."
He turned and walked out, his stride growing to a full run by the end of the hall. When her howl of rage clamored through the building, he was on the tenth floor and still climbing, headed for a secret storage room in which to hide and lick his wounds.
~ * ~
"I want him killed," Anyelet said fiercely.
She glared at the vampires shuffling their feet nervously. How pathetic! Even insane, Rita was a more effective hunter than these soft fools, though now she tended to forget things from one moment to the next. Perhaps there was hope for Gabriel and Werner, but Ron and Jasper were just standing there like automated mannequins waiting for someone to throw the ON switch. Two weeks ago only Rita, Gabriel, and Gregory would have been enough to complete this task.
Werner dug his fingers deep into the filthy hair that hung to his collarbone. "I dunno," he began, "Vic's awfully big—"
"I don't CARE!" she screamed. "You just do what I tell you!" She snatched the nearest vampire by the collar, and the middle-aged woman with teased blond curls made a mewling noise as Anyelet shook hen "What is going on here?" she bellowed. "Do I have to kill one of you to prove that I MEAN WHAT I SAY?" She pitched the woman aside.
"We'll find him, Mistress. Don't worry." Jasper shot the sprawled woman a glance and everyone mumbled their agreement.
"Good," Anyelet snapped. "Now move it. And don't stop looking until you find him or the sun comes up."
They scurried from the room and in a moment she was alone again, still boiling inside from Vic's blow. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. Rebuilding was impossible, and she'd finally come to
accept that. Not only were the humans depleted nearly to extinction, her so-called children had become so numerous that they had lost that fine sense of obedience that was so critical. Unlike them, she had lived on the blood of rats and wild animals successfully for centuries, and could easily do so again—and not end up like those bedamned nuisances in the subways. Hiding from the sun and from mankind was a simple thing when she could slip deep into the earth and lower her metabolism for literally centuries at a time. There were things to attend to first, though: Rita and the others could not be left to destroy what was left of mankind, if only to ensure a land of plenty when she reemerged.
And, of course, there was Vic. She rubbed her jaw absently, feeling along the line of bone to where the ridges were almost healed. Her eyes darkened; had his aim been six inches higher, she might be lying dead next to Hugh. A few feet away amid the lobby's ruined furniture and cracked plaster, the old man's body rotted silently on the floor.
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she headed for the subbasements to join the search. It was time to start cleaning house.
VII
March 29
Liberation
1
REVELATION 19:19
[They] gathered together to make war against her
that sat on the horse, and her army.
AfterAge Page 29