“Nope.” I catch a whiff of something that stinks more like floor cleaner. “Did you get your cologne at a flea market or did you take a bath in Lysol?”
He growls. “Open this fuckin’ door or I’m gonna shoot through it.”
“Sorry, that’s not the right password. And I don’t think you’ve even got a gun. Besides, I’m too young. And my parents will be back soon.”
“Look, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just gonna tie you up so you don’t go getting in my way.”
“Umm, that’s not happening,” I say. “Besides. Wouldn’t you rather I don’t see your face? Can’t describe you to the cops if I don’t see you—and I don’t think ‘took a bath in a vat of shitty cologne’ is going to be much for them to go on… unless they have scent dogs. But you’d knock them clear out.”
The man growls again. For a second, I think he’s giving up… but then I’m in the air.
Being amazingly strong is cool and all, but I still only weigh like 117 pounds. Grown man charging at a door is still going to knock me over. Or in this case, knock me back onto the bed. Time seems to freeze still. I’m nearly horizontal in the air, staring between my splayed legs at a guy in his middle twenties, flannel shirt, olive-drab wool cap, jeans, about three weeks late for his appointment with a razor. He’s also holding a blade the size of a Bowie knife.
That’s about all I take in before I realize I’m on fire.
The next thing I know, I’m on top of this idiot’s who’s half off the bed on the inner side of the room, my fangs two-inches deep in his neck. I have a vague memory of a tiger-like roar and a woman screaming. Wait, no… that wasn’t a woman. That shriek came out of this guy. Since I’m no longer in a waking blackout, I trust the door wound up closed somehow. A brief glance over my shoulder confirms it.
His shirt has claw shreds at the shoulders from where I evidently grabbed him. While I don’t remember a damn bit of it, the way he’s slumped makes me think I dragged him into the room, threw him across the bed, and probably slammed the door before pouncing on him. I even slashed him across the face. Ouch. That looks painful as hell. Hopefully, whoever finds him thinks a bear did it. Or maybe a mountain lion.
I drink a few more mouthfuls of blood that tastes like cheap instant ramen. The bite wound is a lot bigger than I usually inflict, more a chomp and tear than a simple fang puncture. It does, however, still close when I want it to. To my amazement, I didn’t sling too much blood around the room despite the obvious violence of the attack.
Oh well. Dude should’ve been more selective about which RV he burglarized.
It’s still too bright out for me to risk checking the outer door to see if he left it open. With any luck, the guy didn’t want anyone to spot him snooping around and closed it. Still, I can listen for trouble. What are the odds that two people will try to rob us in one day?
I grab his limp head and force him to make eye contact so I can dive into his thoughts. He’s a simple thief looking for crap to grab and sell. And, the guy really did only want to tie me up so he could ransack the bedroom, expecting anything valuable to be in here. And dammit! Based on my voice, he thought I was only fourteen.
Argh!
Well, that’s partially my fault. I was trying to sound harmless in hopes he would just panic at someone being here and run away. I take his knife and debate charging him an idiot tax of thirty bucks—all the bills in his wallet—but decide to leave his money alone.
“Okay, asshole.” I grab two fistfuls of his shirt and pull him up so we’re nose-to nose. “Time for a little creative remembering.”
A few chapters from the end of Dracula, a double-knock sounds from the bedroom door.
Dad pokes his head in, smiling. “Hey, hon. We’re back. About to start on dinner. It’s almost dark.”
“Oh, cool.” Having had enough solitude for the day, I close the book.
“Umm.” Dad peers down. “What happened? There’s blood on the floor.”
I shrug. “Oh. I ordered delivery.”
Dad blinks at me. For a second, his expression makes me wonder if he thinks I’m serious and vampires really do have a take-out service.
“I’m kidding.” I lower my voice so the littles don’t overhear. “Some idiot tried to break into the RV.”
“If he got in, he did more than tried,” says Sierra, right behind Dad.
“Where is he?” asks Dad.
“Did you kill him?” Sierra pokes her head in past Dad’s knee.
“What?” shrieks Sophia. “Someone broke in? Or was it a mountain lion.”
I laugh. “Not unless this is such a bad area the lions have figured out how to pick locks. No, it was a guy. No I didn’t kill him. And yes, he was an idiot.”
“So, where is he?” Dad edges into the room, peering over the bed at the floor between it and the closets.
Bah. Hell with shoes. I scoot off the bed and stand next to him. “I sent him on his way with a bad memory.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “You made him think he went to a Barry Manilow concert?”
I blink. “What?”
“What did you make him see?” asks Sierra with a vindictive gleam in her eye.
“Oh, nothing too outlandish.” I grin. “He now has the morbid fear that if he breaks into a place, there will be a mountain lion waiting for him.”
Dad turns to keep facing me as I walk out into the RV. “Mountain lion? Where did that come from?”
Sophia emits a nervous laugh, then runs over to hug me.
I ruffle her hair. “She put the idea of mountain lions in my head, but I scratched him across the face pretty bad. As far as he knows, he opened the back bedroom here and a mountain lion attacked him.”
“From what I remember of accidentally letting the sun hit you last time,” says Mom, “a mountain lion is about accurate.”
“Bad kitty,” says Sam, before emitting an angry rrreow! and clawing at the air.
“Well, he obviously didn’t steal anything.” Dad pats me on the shoulder.
“Nope.”
Sophia looks up at dad. “Are there mountain lions here?”
“According to the brochure, yes, but they’re rare around this area.”
Sophia leans at me, widening her eyes into a see what I mean! expression.
“Great, Dad. She’s not going to sleep until we’re driving home.” I pat her on the head.
“Want to give me a hand with dinner?” asks Mom.
“Sure,” I say, oddly chipper.
I grin and head over to the mini kitchen, thinking about how I used to love doing housework with her since it was about the only time we spent any time together. Whenever I’d complain about the ridiculous hours she worked, she’d always say something like the house won’t pay for itself. Yeah… I’m glad I decided to go home. After all Mom (and Dad) have done to give us that house to grow up in, the least I can do is keep it.
Something tells me I’m going to live there for a long damn time.
7
Cramped Quarters
Mom has declared that she is the only one who is allowed to open the fridge in this RV.
Mostly, because it looks like she invoked some HP Lovecraft levels of alien geometry in order to cram five days’ worth of food in there. One wrong move, it’ll all explode out onto the floor and take six hours to repack, not to mention the distinct possibility of tentacles from other dimensions.
Sam flops on his bunk with the PS Portable. Sierra and Sophia decide to play Frisbee outside, and Dad goes to watch them after checking Sierra’s temperature because she preferred an outside activity to video games.
Tonight’s dinner is true fine dining: grocery store chicken nuggets with canned string beans and box mashed potatoes. I reject the suggestion to nuke the nuggets since they’ll turn to concrete in a few minutes, and set them up on the RV’s tiny cookie sheet to bake.
“Are you okay about this trip?” asks Mom in a hushed tone.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I lean against he
r in a pseudo-hug since my hands are covered in nugget crumbs. “It’s fine. I didn’t come for the trip. I’m here to spend time with the family.”
“You have to admit,” mutters Mom, “a campground is kinda lame, even for your father.”
I giggle and shrug. “I guess. But the whole point of this is to see the country, right? Where we go isn’t as important as going somewhere we haven’t been before.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “That’s rather deep of you. Now I know you’re too old for these trips.”
“Do you hate it?” I ask.
“Nah. I’m only overthinking our new reality and hoping you’re not miserable.”
“Oh, today was boring as a hell, but I’m still glad I came. Look, if this happens again next year, please make sure Dad knows he can pick a place that the littles can enjoy. Don’t need caves for the vampire. If I have to sit around a hotel room, I will. Let the guys have fun. They’re still young.”
She nods.
We set up around a folding table outside under a retractable awning. I don’t bother eating any of this food. Having to cook for five instead of six helped with cramming everything in the fridge, and probably allowed Mom to get away with only invoking a minor demon to get it all to fit. Restaurants or emergencies (having to pretend to be normal) are different. Besides, it’s Safeway nuggets. I’m not exactly missing out.
After we eat, I spend the last of the daylight with the sibs, tossing the Frisbee around. The sun settles into a glimmering sheen of dark orange along the top of the hills to the west. Clear sky, clean breeze free of the stink of any city, and grass at my bare feet are kinda nice. Maybe this place isn’t so lame after all. The kids develop the habit of repeatedly reminding each other not to ‘step in mountain lion poo’ when chasing the Frisbee. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the ’rents acting a bit romantic inside the RV.
Ugh. Guys. Seriously? Get a room. Wait, hold that thought. Don’t get a room. I have to sleep on that bed, too.
The sun goes down, and after I toss the Frisbee straight into Sierra’s forehead—she can’t see in the dark—we decide to go inside. Of course, her lack of night vision is my fault, so she punches me in the thigh.
“Butthead.”
I grab her in a one armed hug.
Once inside, Sam goes back to his game. Sophia flops on the couch with her Kindle. Sierra also grabs her PSP and climbs into the upper bunk. I sit beside Sophia with Mom and Dad in the driver and passenger seats, which double as recliners. Sierra hops down and heads into the bathroom, a bundle under her arm. The parents tell me about the day they spent hiking around while showing off pictures they took of the sibs exploring the natural wonders they encountered. I try not to feel too bad about missing it.
Eventually, Sophia yawns.
“About that time,” says Dad.
She emits a mmm, turns off the Kindle, and plods over to the bunks. After collecting her nightgown, she tries to go into the bathroom, but it’s locked. She bangs on the door. “Hey. Time’s up.”
“Hang on,” calls Sierra. A minute or two later, the door opens. She walks out wearing a towel. “I am taking over the back bedroom to change. No one’s allowed in.”
Sophia darts into the bathroom. The parents chuckle. Sierra tosses the previous day’s clothes on the bunk, grabs a nightgown, and heads into the back room.
My ears pick up the squeak of the shower faucet, the patter of droplets, and even the faint squeak of her feet sliding around on the plastic floor. As soon as I cease trying to listen to Sophia, only the sound of running water remains in my awareness. Heh. Neat. I have like parabolic hearing. I focus on Sam and pick up the creaks from the plastic buttons on his game. Mom looks worn out and Dad’s exhausted. While Mom is an office creature totally out of her element hiking in the woods, she at least leaves the house and walks around the building at Boeing. Dad spends almost all his time sitting in his little office at home. It’s truly amazing how he’s still thin.
Sophia lets out a scream like Norman Bates just ripped open the shower stall. A heavy crash interrupts for barely two seconds before she resumes shrieking. A few hollow thuds, heels on the shower stall floor follow.
“Soph?” I yell, springing up and running over there quite a bit faster than my parents are capable of. The door’s locked. “Are you okay?”
Soft, echoey whimpering emanates from inside.
Using one claw as a screwdriver, I undo the lock and pull the door open enough to peek inside. Sophia’s flat on her back on the floor in front of the toilet, curled up in ball, shivering. The shower’s still blasting water.
“What happened?” I stoop, pulling a towel off the counter by the sink and holding it open for her.
She sits up into a terrycloth hug, still shaking. As soon as I squeeze her, I understand what happened. Her hair is frigid.
Mom skids to a stop at the doorway behind me. “Sophia?”
“C-cold,” whimpers Sophia. “I w-was showering and the w-water just went ice cold in an instant.”
I lean one arm into the stall, avoiding the spray like I’m trying to disarm some manner of Indiana Jones deathtrap, and turn the faucet off.
“Ahh,” says Dad from a few steps back. “Guess Sierra used up all the hot water. Looks like we’ll have to share showers out here, Allie.”
Mom blushes a little.
I’m sure she doesn’t at all mind the idea, but talking about it in front of the kids is about as awkward as me thinking about our parents being romantic. Ick. “No way, guys. The stall’s tiny. I think it’s even smaller than the fridge. You couldn’t both fit in there, at least not and still move. It’d be like sharing a coffin. Soph and Sierra could barely share a shower.”
“Uhh, that’s not happening,” yells Sierra from inside the bedroom.
“Well,” says Dad. “Then everyone’s going to need to wait between showers. This thing’s only got a tiny water heater.”
Sierra emerges from the bedroom in her nightgown—one of the few ‘girly’ things she likes.
“You showered too long,” says Sophia, clinging to her towel.
“I didn’t shower any longer than I usually do.”
Sophia stomps. “But this isn’t usual. We’re in a camper.”
“So, just wait a while and there will be more hot water.” Sierra pulls herself up into the top bunk.
“That’s not the point! You’re being selfish.” Sophia storms over to the bed, standing in front of Sam while screaming up at Sierra.
The girls fly into a full on bickering argument about ‘showers of unusual length.’ Sam peers around Sophia at me with a ‘help’ look, like a mouse trapped in a cubby.
I lean against the wall, arms folded, smiling. Ahh… everything’s back to normal. “Wow. Feels like we never even left home.”
Dad laughs.
8
Strange Energy
The next day is also relatively sunny, but we’re blessed with moderate cloud cover. It’s enough for me to tolerate going outside, though it’s annoyingly roasty.
I wake up around two in the afternoon. Mom checks in on me a few minutes later, since they’ve learned my timing. In the absence of a severe ass-kicking and/or mega-sun, I almost always snap awake at two.
“We waited on lunch,” says Mom. “Just getting back now.”
“Back?” I ask.
“Your father got it in his head to try fishing. They have a trail down to the river. Spent the morning there. The weather looks like you might be able to handle heading up to the caves today if you are willing to try.”
I shrug. “Might as well. The whole reason we’re here, right? It doesn’t feel worse than the day we gave Dalton a ride.”
She smiles. “Keeping fingers crossed for clouds.”
“Something almost no one ever says while on vacation.”
Mom laughs and leaves me to my privacy. Ehh, screw it. I hop out of bed and change into my usual tee-and-jeans ensemble. For sun reasons, I put on socks and shoes, and snag a swe
atshirt with a hood, but carry that for the time being.
I open the bedroom door and get a blast of ick in the face. The main space feels like it’s over a hundred degrees. The area outside under the awning isn’t much better, but it’s also not worse. A lawn chair near the RV under the awning is about as safe from sun as I can get without going to the back bedroom, so I flop there while Mom and Dad set the sibs up with lunch. Everyone except for Sophia has chicken salad sandwiches plus whatever they want from a communal salad bowl. Sophia’s munching on a crime against nature. It’s a special mad-science project she invented. Similar to chicken salad, only made with tofu. I can’t even… it has to be as squishy as eating a cottage cheese sandwich.
At least she’s not like this girl Jennie I went to high school with. The girl’s the kind of vegan that makes people hate them. She would refuse to eat the tofu sandwich because Mom used the same knife that touched chicken salad and didn’t wash it between.
Dad mentions the cavern trip is on a schedule due to there being a tour. He opted for a late-afternoon one, so everyone has to be at the starting point at four. “The tour includes a hike from the campground to the caverns. It’s about two hours.”
The littles all shrug in a ‘yeah, okay, whatever’ manner. I nod. Not like I become tired anymore. The real question is if Dad can handle that much physicality. His being thin doesn’t necessarily mean he’s got endurance. But really, how bad could it be.
“They’ve got a warning sign for people with heart issues,” says Dad. “Might be rough.”
“They probably have to put that up because people sue,” says Sierra.
“Thank you.” Mom smiles.
Sierra gives her the side eye. “For?”
“Not blaming lawyers.” She sighs. “It’s so frustrating to constantly hear people going on and on about how lawyers ruin this or that.”
“Well, this lawyer,” says Dad, leaning close to her, “is presently ruining the mood with grumpiness.”
The Last Family Road Trip (Vampire Innocent Book 4) Page 6