What Happens in the Darkness

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  “I was wondering that myself. I’d forgotten just how big this country is. We don’t have enough help.”

  “We have enough.”

  “No we don’t. We can’t cover this area in such a concentrated way. Martin’s plan is fine but not far-reaching enough. Did he think the enemy troops wouldn’t head inland? Did he think they’d just sit there and wait for us along the shores?”

  “I don’t know,” Dagan said. He studied the vampires resting in the shadows of the room. “We need to spread out. Who else is ready to lead, do you think?”

  “Lead?” She looked at the sleeping figures. “Who can we trust? We need one who will have the best interest of the group in mind, and not just look out for himself or herself.”

  “I also think we need more than one. Look—” He spread open the map again. “There are about a hundred of us. If we divide into four groups we can go to North Dakota, Nebraska, Texas, and Kansas. I’ve plotted out four routes, and we can all travel across the states at roughly the same time. Cover the same amount of area. And we can all finish with Kansas, meeting there. We travel on a diagonal and close in on that point.”

  Rebecca pulled her hair off her neck and studied the map. “Wonderful idea. But who?”

  They both looked at the other vampires.

  “The one in the corner,” Rebecca said. “I’ve seen him help others. Strangely altruistic for a vampire. And he has a strong personality.”

  “But he’s so old,” Dagan said.

  “Come on, Dagan. You know very well that age no longer matters.”

  “I just meant that he’ll be set in his ways. He may not be cooperative.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you’re at least a hundred years older than he is?”

  “I know, I know. Who else?”

  No one else appealed to her.

  Dagan pointed to the teenager in the corner of the room.

  “Her? Why her?”

  “She put up quite a fight. And she didn’t seem afraid. Not like the others.”

  “Fine then,” Rebecca said, dropping to the floor and using a sleeping bag for a pillow. “Later tonight we’ll map out the routes, and then we’ll instruct them.”

  “Fine.”

  “Get some rest.” She closed her eyes, snuggling her head into the sleeping bag. She felt better having worked out a great plan. After all, their plans had worked out well up to that point, Deadwood aside. What could possibly go wrong now?

  ***

  The army base was deserted when Martin returned alone, but he didn’t find this unusual. The remaining humans had long-since fled, and the vampires were on missions and hadn’t yet returned.

  But what struck Martin as odd was finding Jeff’s house empty, without any source of candle or flashlight, without any indication at all he’d recently been there.

  He wondered if Jeff had been captured, or perhaps killed by the enemy.

  Straining to pick up signs of human life, drowned out instead by a steady chorus of crickets and bullfrogs striking up the band in the surrounding grass, Martin cautiously approached the building that had jailed him for so many decades.

  “Jeff?” He stepped inside the dark building, his eyes quickly adjusting. Even without a light source he could see perfectly, one of the few advantages of being forcibly nocturnal.

  He descended, and numerous staircases later he reached the cavernous sub-subbasement, his former home. There were no sentimental stirrings, not even feelings of revulsion or dread, only curiosity. And caution? His feral instincts were again warning him, and he wondered why. So he moved carefully, always on the defensive, always prepared to protect himself.

  The corridors were empty. He sensed no movement, no sounds of life anywhere in this area. Yet there was something. Not anything human … he couldn’t detect a human presence, no sounds of breath or of heartbeat, no smell of hot blood running through veins, no scent of musty, musky sweat glistening on terrified skin.

  All doors were flung open or hanging off on rusty, busted hinges. Martin crossed through what was once Jeff’s office, passing that hideous mural that had once hidden the door to Martin’s Private Hell.

  The living room, the façade hiding the passageway to hell. Yet they had called it home. How quaint. Now it sat empty save for a sofa and a smattering of overstuffed chairs.

  Martin peered in, strangely uncomfortable with the idea of crossing the threshold. Unease was not an emotion he was used to. Discomfort, perhaps, when he was annoyed, but this feeling of dread passed through him like tainted blood.

  Something was in the room with him.

  He knew it wasn’t a someone; he could sense no sign of life and knew it wasn’t human.

  But it was something angry, something ready to attack and kill.

  Martin stepped against a wall to guard his back, and scanned the room.

  “You’ve returned,” the shadowy thing in the darkness whispered. He was turned away, so Martin could only see the obscure silhouette, although it was a form familiar to him.

  “Patrick?” he asked, knowing the answer was no. The familiarity of this one’s voice was unnerving; he couldn’t place it. This was not a vampire he knew, but he believed it was one he had met before. But when?

  The stranger stepped out from the shadows, hatred seething in his undead veins, contempt for Martin filling cold steel pores.

  “Jeff.” Martin rarely was speechless. But this time he had no words, only a stunned expression and a pervading feeling of remorse. He’d failed Jeff somehow, hadn’t managed to protect him. But who—

  Jeff moved toward Martin, hands balled into tight, furious fists. Slitted eyes radiated venom.

  “How?” Martin finally asked. “I forbade them.”

  “I trusted you,” Jeff spat.

  “I forbade them!” he yelled, his voice exploding in anger. “I forbade this, and I have been disobeyed!”

  “Disobeyed?” he stammered. “Disobeyed? What? That’s what upsets you?”

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “Look what he did to me!” he screamed, falling to his knees, fists drawn up to his eyes. He sobbed, tipping forward, forehead pressed against the cold dirt.

  Martin made no move to comfort him. Thoughts of revenge tore through his mind, but first he needed to discover who the betrayer was.

  Jeff sobbed, staring at the ground, his body drawn into himself. He finally lifted his head. Red-rimmed eyes glared at Martin. “That was the last of it,” he said quietly, standing up again. “The last of my humanity. I feel the last of my fluids drying, my organs crumbling … useless in this dead husk of a body.”

  “Jeff—”

  “No! Goddammit, where were you?” He was calmer, but Martin could sense the anger teeming, well-hidden in his bravado.

  “Who was it? Who did this to you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes! It matters.”

  “Why?” Jeff cried, slapping fist against palm. “So you can have your revenge? Because you were wronged? What about me, Martin? What about me?”

  Licking his lips, Martin regained his composure, sighed once. Thought for a moment. “This was forbidden, and we’ll have justice. But—what’s done is done.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll learn to live with it. We all have. You have no choice.”

  Jeff drew his arms across his chest, revulsion oozing out of his pores. “This was your plan all along. Wasn’t it? You always wanted me to join you!”

  Martin shook his head. “You know that’s not true.”

  “You planned this!” Jeff growled as he closed the few feet separating them, throwing himself at Martin.

  Martin threw his arms up to block the attack.

  Jeff grabbed Martin’s throat and landed on top of him, knocking Martin to the ground, mashing his head against the dirt and rocks.

  The force of the blow from another vampire was enough to stun Martin, having forgotten the strength they can possess. His vision blackened for a
moment, and he felt Jeff’s hand close around his throat.

  They fought furiously, Martin defending himself against Jeff’s insane attack, battling against fists of hatred and rage, claw-like nails digging furrows in his flesh, blood just below the dermis running down cold, dead skin.

  The more-experienced Martin fought back, wanting to not hurt Jeff but not planning to lose this battle.

  Jeff finally seemed to tire and broke away, limping off to lick his wounds.

  A staggering Martin fell to his knees, coughing, his fresh wounds hurting. He hadn’t been in a fight with another vampire in hundreds of years. Jeff was strong but was still transforming, hadn’t achieved his full strength yet. Martin was concerned with how powerfully strong Jeff had become so soon in the transformation. A being with so much strength and hatred would make a wonderful ally—or a formidable enemy.

  “Please,” Martin said, struggling to his knees, wiping the blood from his face. “You have to believe me. I never meant for this to happen.” A tooth fell out of his mouth. Not that it mattered; his body would regenerate itself within hours.

  Head hung, blood streaming from a badly damaged eye, Jeff climbed to his feet. “I’ll never forgive you for this. Never,” he said, his voice guttural. “You killed me, and I will never forget it.”

  Jeff staggered through the door.

  “No—wait!” Martin started to follow but changed his mind. He would never be able to convince Jeff to stay, and he certainly wasn’t going to have his forgiveness. Not now. He’d have to let him go. Besides, it was almost sunrise.

  He only hoped Jeff knew this. Being a new vampire, Jeff might not yet be attuned to his internal clock. If he didn’t find shelter soon, he’d be charcoal under the sun’s harsh rays.

  Chapter 17

  That evening Dagan and Rebecca shared their plan with the others. Samantha and Nelson were the two they had chosen to lead the others inland.

  Instruction was minimal; they had all been trained by Martin at the army base only days earlier, so this was an update, and a refresher course.

  Sammi, short curly red hair and pale freckles standing out on her dead, white pallor, looked like a diseased Raggedy Ann doll. Her icy blue eyes, rimmed scarlet because of her recent consumption of blood, shined with eagerness and intelligence.

  Nelson repeatedly licked his lips, as if enjoying his mouth and tongue, endlessly poking and counting each tooth. His kinky salt-and-pepper hair was short-cropped and perfectly cut. His beard was equally neat, trimmed perfectly along his jaw line. Despite his age there was an energy about him, and it was apparent this had been inherent in his life as much as it was now a part of his death.

  Rebecca spread the map on the floor, and the four huddled over it.

  “We’re here.” She indicated the circled section on the west coastal area in California. “This will be our starting point. Obviously.” She smiled. “Dagan will follow Northeast—” Her fingers trailed the map, moving in an arc through Salt Lake City, Bismarck, Pierre, Des Moines, and dozens of tiny towns interspersed throughout, finishing in Jefferson City.

  “Dagan’s is the least direct route. But he’s fast and will be able to cover a lot of terrain. This is the meeting point, Jefferson City. There’s a small town near JC, called Pitchfork. This is where we’ll meet. It won’t be a clean sweep. There just aren’t enough of us to cover such a vast area, but we’ll do the best we can. Sammi, you’ll head east, on a slight northward angle. This is your route.”

  Her fingers traced Phoenix and Santa Fe before resting on Oklahoma City.

  “This includes every little town you pass, many of which won’t be found on any map. We don’t expect them to be highly populated with enemy soldiers, but you never know. They may be using these small towns as base camps, so check out everything.

  “Nelson, you’ll start farther south and move east as well. El Paso, Lubbock, Oklahoma City, finally reaching Jefferson City. My group and I will take the scenic route. I’ve always wanted to visit Mexico.” She laughed. “We’ll travel south through Mexico and cross over at Culiacan, then back into Texas. Laredo, Houston, swing over to Baton Rouge, Montgomery, Little Rock, finish up in Jefferson City.

  “Keep in mind the landscape may have changed, so be flexible when needed. Especially after so many bombings … there’s no way of knowing what’s still intact.”

  Rebecca studied their faces. “Questions?” She handed each of them a map. “Your routes have been highlighted. Obviously if there are any problems, do what you need to survive. Deviate from the path laid out. But try to reach the rendezvous point within three days.”

  Dagan said, “It’s voital t’stay on track, if y’can. And r’member t’never travel fahrtha than y’can b’fore foindin’ shelter. Always give y’selfs toim t’find shelter—at least an aaaahr b’fore sunup. ’Kay?”

  Sammi and Nelson nodded but looked at each other.

  “Need me to translate?” Rebecca asked. She looked at Dagan. “You sounded like a blasted pirate,” and Dagan punched her in the arm.

  “We’ll wait three nights,” Rebecca said, grinning. “Although it shouldn’t take more than two, one if you’re especially fast. Kill every enemy soldier in your path. Do not sire any vampires. Is that clear?”

  They nodded again.

  “The penalty for disobedience is death,” Dagan said.

  “We would never disobey,” Sammi said, looking stunned that he would even suggest such a thing.

  They all looked at Nelson, who was still playing with his teeth.

  “No,” he sputtered, “never. Sorry.” He grinned. “I just ain’t used to these teeth. I ain’t had nothing but falsies for twenty-odd years now. Feels good!”

  Rebecca grinned and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “We’re divided into four groups of about fifteen each. Now would be a good time to ask questions if you have any.”

  They thought for a moment.

  “They’ll listen to us?” Sammi asked. “I mean, like they do with you?”

  “They know you’re in charge,” Rebecca said. “And they know the penalty for disobedience.”

  “Any other questions?” Dagan asked, but there weren’t any.

  ***

  They set out, four teams headed in four directions.

  Rebecca and her group followed the southwestern coastal line, freeing a shipload of American prisoners near Puerto Libertad, including a galley filled with US soldiers, badly beaten and tortured.

  They continued east, now changing direction slightly north, crossing Mexico, going from Culiacan to Laredo, killing soldiers throughout Texas and Louisiana. They found shelter in a root cellar in an old hotel in New Orleans and planned to finish their journey the following evening.

  Nelson led his group through Southern Phoenix, Sun City, and Payson, later relating how he hadn’t found as many enemy camps as Rebecca’s group. Most of the enemy bases were empty, prisoners being herded toward the coasts. Towns were swarmed with enemy soldiers setting up homes, moving into the houses, taking over shops.

  Before becoming a vampire, Nelson had owned a bait and tackle shop in Virginia Beach, so it gave him great pleasure to reclaim the mom-and-pop shops from the invaders.

  He led his vampires to a warehouse, and they took refuge in a windowless employee lounge.

  ***

  Sammi led her group through northern Phoenix and up toward Santa Fe without incident, stopping in the small town of Taos, Pop. 5713. Errant soldiers were attacked, but no matter where they traveled, there was never more than a handful. She began to think they were wasting their time and wondered if she shouldn’t head toward the coast instead. Maybe find Rebecca. Then she remembered her orders.

  Her vampires waited around her.

  She stared off into the distance. “Mountains are that way,” she said. “I don’t think we should risk shelter. I’m not even sure there’s another town close by.” She pulled the map out of her pocket and unfolded it.

  Something felt strange. Her skil
ls weren’t yet honed, her senses as a vampire still weak, inexperienced. But still, something felt odd, and she was picking up a peculiar scent on the wind.

  The outskirts of the town of Taos were quiet. Rusted signs swung on screeching hinges, blowing in the slight breeze. But other than that there were few other noises. A shutter occasionally slammed against the side of a house, or a renegade cat howled in the distance.

  But other than that, it was quiet.

  Quiet.

  The stores lining the streets included two bars, a card shop, a deli. Any of these stores would likely have a good basement, hopefully with windowless storerooms. This was tornado country, after all.

  Sammi threw back her shoulders, shrugging off the shawl of discomfort. Nerves ached with raw energy, but she didn’t understand why. She wasn’t yet in touch with her own visceral emotions.

  She waited for someone in the crowd to question her, hoped it would happen, but no one did. Sammi was in charge, and no one was going to doubt her actions.

  Stepping toward the bar on the corner, she crossed the street and approached the front door.

  Her vampires followed, moving as a close pack, huddling closely behind her at the entrance.

  When Sammi turned around—that uncomfortable feeling had become sheer panic—she and her vampires were surrounded by enemy soldiers.

  Some held guns in their hands but most held crossbows—and all weapons were trained on the vampires’ hearts or heads.

  The soldiers were adorned with crosses of every imaginable size and shape.

  Above their heads, more soldiers, also dressed in suits made of crosses, held bottles of water in their hands.

  Sammi opened her mouth, intending to yell, but nothing came out. Every muscle in her body locked. Even her tongue lay useless in her mouth.

  Dead silence as thick as blood filled the air.

  The enemy command was given, breaking the silence. “Fire!”

  The soldiers overhead emptied the contents of the pots, splashing the vampires with the holy water that sizzled on their skin, destroying it on contact. Across the street the soldiers fired their crossbows, a stream of arrows racing through the air and impaling the vampires, their bodies exploding when the wooden arrows made contact with their hearts. The mortally wounded fell to the ground, the undead dead once again. This time there would be no resurrection.