So simple. Why, he could sire and increase his numbers and—
But he didn’t care. Death would come soon. The elements might not kill him, but the sun would.
He waited, resting against the tree, the wind slapping his cheeks. Bits of snow began to fall.
Screams pierced the night, followed by cries for help, and then laughter.
How keen his eyesight now was. Not yet perfect—he assumed perfect eyesight would come if he allowed himself to fully change—but so much better than they were when he was fully living and breathing.
Across the field, which had to be half a mile away, a group of soldiers chased after two young girls.
Jeff struggled to his feet and doubled over in pain, and in spite of his weakness the trip across the field took seconds. His desire to die was not as strong as his desire to help others.
Seconds later he reached the soldiers, but now what? This was uncharted territory.
“Stop,” he yelled weakly, and the soldiers did, smacking into one another, startled by the sudden appearance of this strange man.
The girls were young, perhaps twelve or thirteen.
“Hey!” the blonde girl yelled, hands on hips.
The soldiers wasted no more than a second after Jeff’s appearance and hoisted their guns or pulled them from holsters.
“Hands up!” he was ordered, but Jeff stared dumbly at them.
“You okay?” he asked the girls.
Someone hit him in the head. He turned around and faced the man who had just smashed the barrel of his weapon on Jeff’s skull.
“Why’d you do that?” Jeff asked, grabbing the guard by the neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. With one twist of his wrist, he sent the soldier sailing through the air.
The girls attacked the remaining soldiers—another half dozen.
He looked up from the carnage and licked the blood congealing on his hands. Just the small sample was enough to whet his appetite; he needed more, and now. He dropped to the ground, hovering over a dead soldier.
“No!” the blonde girl screamed. “Wait.”
He looked up, and the girls approached him.
“Don’t you know what you’ve done?” she cried, throwing her arms up. “They’re ours. We hunted them. Us!”
He licked his blood-smeared lips and blinked, finally realizing what she was talking about. “I didn’t know you wanted them,” he muttered. “But I need this. Please, I’m dying.”
The girls folded their arms, and one tapped her foot on the grass, but neither attempted to stop him.
“Oh all right,” the raven-haired child said, sighing. “Go on then, if you need it.”
The blonde nudged her in the ribs. “But they’re ours!”
“He’s in sorry shape. He needs them more than we do. We’ll find more.”
“No, don’t you see? There are no more. Maybe a handful left, but most of the soldiers have been killed or captured.”
Jeff looked up, blood dripping from his muzzle like a wild animal feeding in the forest. He smeared the liquid across the back of his hand. “They have? Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure,” the blonde said sarcastically. She sat on the ground, knees pulled up to her butt. “What are you doing out here, in such bad shape? You get kicked out of your family?”
“My what? No.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, moving on to another soldier.
“Why don’t you come with us? We sleep in a house in the woods,” the blonde girl said. “Sun’ll be up in a little while.”
He looked skyward, as if looking for the sun hidden behind the moon and stars. And he knew they were right, that he didn’t have much time left before sunrise.
Thoughts of suicide left him as they led him away, across fields of withered grass, lightly covered with a dusting of snow, until they reached the small cabin they and their family called home.
***
They descended a flight of stairs into darkness, Jeff trailing the girls. Other vampires came in as well, escaping the approaching day.
The girls threw open a storeroom door, and Jeff followed them in.
The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming number of enemy uniforms strewn around the room.
The second thing he noticed was Patrick, resting against a stack of boxes, sitting atop one as if on a cardboard throne.
Patrick looked equally startled to see Jeff.
“Girls,” he crooned. “What did you bring me?”
Jeff shook his head. Panic dried out his throat, making it hard to swallow. “Oh no …” he moaned. He might not have cared whether he lived or died … but not this way. Not at this madman’s hands.
“We found him on a hill,” the blonde girl said. “We brought him back with us.”
“How sweet of you!” His words oozed with sincerity and warmth. “Such good girls. Were you afraid he’d be cold?”
They didn’t understand the question and shrugged.
“I’d be worried too. Poor guy, all by himself out there. No one to take care of him. No family …”
Jeff knew this wasn’t going to end well … but he couldn’t leave … the sun was going to be up within minutes. He sighed, no words coming to mind. His tongue felt like lead.
Patrick hopped down from the boxes.
Jeff stood straighter, ignoring his exhaustion, on alert to Patrick’s movements, now terrified of them. Less than an hour ago he was ready to die, had wanted to end this new life he was being forced to live. But now … now he wanted nothing more than to survive.
Somehow he thought Patrick had other plans for him.
Patrick came within inches of Jeff’s face. “Kem, Stephen. Come here, please.” The vampire soldiers snapped to attention.
“I need your assistance. This intruder isn’t welcome here. We need to escort him out.”
“No!” the girls who had brought Jeff in yelled simultaneously.
“Why can’t he stay?” the blonde asked. “He’ll die.”
“Never question me!” Patrick brought his hand up as if to strike her, and she cowered. “He’s the enemy, a betrayer. I want him out.”
“Please,” the raven-haired child said. “We want to keep him.”
“The longer you delay, the less chance he has of finding shelter. Now be quiet or he’ll surely die, and it will be your fault.”
The girls nodded and skipped away.
Kem and Stephen grabbed Jeff’s arms and dragged him up the stairs. Jeff’s struggles were weak, useless.
Patrick followed them up.
The last thing Jeff saw as he was tossed out the door like a pail of dirty dishwater was Patrick’s smiling face, and a wooden door being slammed shut.
The sun would rise in moments.
There was nowhere to hide, no place to find shelter. Not even time to dig a grave.
***
Paula, the reluctant leader, who had been thrown into the position by a vanishing Patrick, returned from Florida with her group. She hadn’t been pleased with the way he’d deserted her, but she’d dealt with it. Now they were back in New York, back on their way north, to Saratoga. First she wanted to see if she could locate anyone still in the city, maybe find Martin or Dagan or the twin brothers.
Instead, what she saw made her abruptly stop. The little girl sat on the top steps of St. Ignatius Church, silver and gold crucifixes clutched in her small hands like a dealer hawking jewelry on the streets, the metal gleaming under the glow of the lighted doorway.
The little girl was Janelle.
Her daughter.
Janelle wearily looked up, a child who had clearly seen too much, who had been through too much. Her jaw dropped at the sight of her mother standing at the bottom of the church steps.
Janelle gasped and started descending the steps toward her mother.
“No!” Paula yelled. “Stay there.”
Janelle dropped the collection of crosses from her hands and wiped her palms on her jacket. “Mom?”
“But why?”
Because I don’t want to hurt you, Paula thought. Because I can’t help myself. Because I want your blood …
Janelle was crying, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
Paula stared stone-faced at her daughter, wanting only to embrace the child—but for her blood. Something was keeping her from attacking, some leftover drop of motherhood not yet lost to this new life, some tiny faction of the woman who once was.
But Janelle would never understand. Janelle was human. Janelle still knew warmth and compassion, still knew love.
Paula felt sorry for the child but didn’t feel love. If she felt anything at all, it was likely hunger.
“But Mom!” she sobbed, holding out her arms.
Paula turned away.
“Fine!” Janelle sobbed, grabbing her crosses and clutching them in her fists, pointing them at Paula, threatening her with them. “Just go then!”
Paula yelled to her group, “Let’s go.”
They followed Paula as she headed away, disappearing down Park Avenue, headed south.
***
Jeff banged on the door, screaming to be allowed in. When that didn’t work—not that he’d expected it to—he circled the cabin, looking for an entrance. The windows had been securely boarded. Besides, there wasn’t much chance he’d be allowed inside, even if he was able to break through a window.
No barn, no shed, no goddamned shithouse. Nothing. Not even a ditch, a gopher hole. Nothing!
He panicked. Terror set in as he frantically tried to come up with a plan, scanned the area for some tiny hope of shelter.
Just as he threw himself against the cabin wall the cornflower sun peeked over the mountains, officially beginning the day.
Above his head, the eaves extended about ten inches from the roof, providing shelter from a direct hit from the rays. This was the only reason he had not yet been burned to a crisp, he knew; the rays hadn’t touched him, and he wasn’t a fully formed vampire yet.
The reflection of the sun scorched his eyes, made it almost impossible to breathe. He pressed himself flat against the wood and watched in dread as the sun’s shadow crept toward him in agonizing slowness. His arms ached from being thrown back and pressed against the side of the cabin, and his body spasmed after hours of holding the same rigid position.
The sun slowly continued to change its position, inching toward him. Clouds provided the only relief, and they were sparse. He wished for rain and almost laughed at the simple thought. But considering how perfect this day was—the sky a fluffy blue the color of a robin’s eggshell—he knew there wasn’t much chance of that happening.
He sensed it was around noon, approaching the warmest part of the day, where the rays were strongest. Four hours or so of this … the sunlight was barely inches from him at this point. Its warmth was agony on his skin, and roasted him, and when he moved his facial muscles even a fraction, when he blinked, he felt the dry stretching of the skin, the dried-out, tanned rawhide feel of a belt, his flesh breaking, his flesh tearing, splitting. He could smell himself baking…. The slight wind did nothing but fan him like kindling. Smokey tendrils drifted up from his skin as he began to burn. With unbearable slowness he reached down and extinguished his thigh with his palm.
He began to tremble, his body wanting to rest, to find any other position, but he forced himself to remain still. He had no choice.
Another hour passed.
And another.
Still another.
The sun retreated with the fiery speed of a turtle, but its intensity finally subsided, its paining blast of ultraviolet rays and vitamin D slinking away, offering Jeff some relief. In another forty minutes it would set.
He didn’t know if he could wait that long.
He opened his eyes and discovered he was blind.
Chapter 20
Nelson and his group returned to the makeshift base by the fourth night. They’d had an uneventful trip but had managed to get lost on the way back.
Sammi was still unconscious. They’d fashioned a litter, and volunteers had stepped forward to help carry her.
The four teams—well, the fourth team comprised only of Sammi, the sole survivor—were together again and ready to head east, back to home base. They were still a thousand miles from Saratoga but had the entire night left to travel. Having to carry Sammi on a stretcher would slow them a bit, but they could still make the trip in about six hours. They set out immediately so they could make it back in one night.
***
Jeff collapsed on the ground, his muscles in distress, his eyes charred pits. He heard the cabin doors open.
“He’s alive!” a child yelled. “Look—alive!”
He recognized the voice. One of the girls from the night before.
He didn’t care.
“So he is. I’ll be damned.”
Jeff recognized that voice as well.
“So can he come in now?” the girl asked. “Can we keep him? Is his punishment over?”
“Over?” Patrick laughed. “What do you think?” He grabbed Jeff’s lapels and lifted him effortlessly, trying to get Jeff to stand.
Jeff moaned and tried desperately to see but could barely make out fuzzy forms. He dropped to his knees, too weak to sustain himself.
Patrick pulled Jeff’s head back by his hair and backhanded him across his face. Dry skin split under the blow. Jeff collapsed, and Patrick kicked him in the ribs.
Jeff grunted, doubled over, clutched his stomach, curled into a ball. He tried to protect his head but couldn’t get his arms to cooperate, couldn’t get them above his shoulders.
He waited to be beaten to death. And he hoped it wouldn’t take much longer.
“What are you doing to him?” A female voice. A new one, not someone from inside the cabin, yet vaguely familiar. Rebecca maybe.
“None of your damned business,” Patrick spat. “This isn’t your concern. We’re taking care of one of our own. Now be gone, before somebody drops a house on you!”
“Temper, temper. Odd how y’take care’a your own, Patrick. Beating the poor sod.” Another voice, familiar, this one Irish, male. Jeff recognized this one: Dagan.
“Keep out of my business, leprechaun,” Patrick said.
“There be people lookin’ for ya, Paddy, me boy,” Dagan said, fooling around with the accent. “Maahteen’s a trifle angered with how you been misbehavin’.”
Jeff felt himself being gently lifted off the ground.
“What the hell did you do to this guy?” Jeff recognized Rebecca’s voice. “Isn’t this Jeff?”
Patrick didn’t answer. The cabin door slammed shut.
“We have to get him back. Is there room on that litter?”
“Give him to me,” a strange voice said, and Jeff was passed from one set of arms to another, held like a baby, his head resting in the crook of an arm. This was a new voice, one Jeff didn’t know. He opened his eyes but still couldn’t see anything.
“Jesus,” the old voice said, “look at these here eyes. They look bad. Real bad.”
“You sure you have him, Nelson?” Rebecca asked.
“Light as a feather.”
“Let’s go,” Dagan said, and Jeff felt them moving now, felt himself being carried away.
Somehow he felt safe.
***
Martin spotted Paula entering the compound. “Where’s Patrick?”
She slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him in a week.”
“What do you mean? Is he all right?”
“Martin, Patrick put me in charge and then took off. I took my group to Florida and completed the mission. I have no idea where he went. He didn’t say.”
Martin nodded and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, as though he had a headache. “Odd. But thank you for taking charge.”
She shrugged, looked away.
“What’s wrong?”
She told him.
M
artin remembered when he had first been changed, the longing for something missing, and the worst of it not knowing just what he was longing for. Just a sense that something was now missing from his life … and knowing there were some people he would never see again. Or that he would likely outlive them all, lifetime after lifetime. Eternity was lonely work.
“It’s not easy,” he said. “It’s an adjustment. I’m sure it was difficult for you.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “I think that’s what’s bothering me. She’s my daughter, Martin. But …”
“You didn’t care.”
“No I didn’t. I didn’t want to harm her … not exactly … but I thought about her blood. I didn’t want to love her either.”
Martin nodded. “This is what you are now. I think you’ve accepted that.”
“I suppose.” Paula rubbed her nose absentmindedly. “I felt sorry for her … but not as my daughter, just some kid. I don’t know why that’s bothering me at all. I didn’t think it should.”
Martin clasped his elbow. “Eventually it won’t.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “The feelings?”
A commotion in the front room interrupted them. A small crowd had returned and they were frantic, energized.
“Martin! Martin!” Rebecca shouted as he rushed up to her. “We’ve had major problems.”
Sammi and Jeff had been lowered to the ground. Martin knelt between them, trying to decide who to check first.
He carefully lifted Sammi’s burnt arm and examined it, placed it gently beside her. Then he studied her face, pried her eyes open between his fingers.
Martin turned around and touched Jeff’s cheek. “What happened to him?”
“It was Patrick,” Rebecca said. “We were headed back here, and we heard a commotion and went to investigate. Dagan and I stopped Patrick from beating him to death, I think.”
“Patrick?” Martin wasn’t easily surprised, but this did it. “But how did he get like this? Certainly not from a beating.”
“I don’t know how. But Martin, there’s more. He was surrounded by vampires, and they were enemy soldiers. I’m surprised Patrick let us take Jeff. I guess he saw our numbers. We outnumbered them, I think.”
What Happens in the Darkness Page 19