Jude thought a moment before he spoke. “Lenny didn’t mention the attacks.”
“If he had, would you have come to Gabon?” Hamilton shrugged. “I wouldn’t have.”
Jude let that remark slide. He’d just met Hamilton. Vampirism occasionally brought out psychotic tendencies, such as paranoia. He took another sip of his drink. It cooled the back of his throat.
“I know this must sound crazy,” Hamilton said. “But it’s true.”
“Why would bats attack a camp?” Jude asked.
“For dinner.”
“Bats aren’t carnivorous.”
“These are.” Hamilton’s eyes held a fierce gleam. “You should’ve seen the carnage.”
“And you’re sure they’re bats?”
“Yeah. I’m a cave archaeologist.” Hamilton tossed the cup on the floor, and walked back to his cot. “So, what’s your field, buddy?”
“Biochemistry.”
“What area?”
“DNA sequencing and synthesis.”
Hamilton whistled. “Bet you’re real smart. How long you been a vampire?”
“Almost four years,” Jude said.
“I been one since 1938.” He lifted his hand, dismissing those years with a broad sweep. “I got a few more decades kicking in me. I don’t want to die here. Do you?”
“No.”
“If you look out for me, I’ll look out for you. Deal?”
“Okay.”
Hamilton’s eyes glistened. “Us scientists need to look out for one another.”
Jude finished his drink, pouring the bloody ice melt into his mouth. He set the empty cup on the desk, then stripped to his T-shirt and boxers and got into bed. He could feel a shift in the outside temperature, a sudden coolness as the wind broke through the canopy, setting tree limbs to creaking. The weight of the air seemed to push into the tent and settle against Jude’s sternum, the same feeling that he’d experienced the night he’d been turned into a vampire.
Four years earlier, he and Caro had gone to an Egyptian monastery to look for artifacts. Jude had still been human, and Caro had just found out that she was pregnant. She’d told him about the baby at the top of Mount Sinai. The next morning, they’d returned to the monastery, feeling safe among the monks—some were human, some were immortal. That night, a crazed human had breached the thick, fourth-century walls and attacked Caro. When Jude tried to rescue her, he’d gotten shot. Raphael and his men had saved her and they’d brought down the shooter, but Jude had been mortally wounded. Caro told the monks to transform him into a vampire. The following day, Jude awoke in a dark room, his head shaved, a crushing force moving through his chest. He’d sensed that something worse was about to befall him and Caro—and it almost had. The cabal had planned to put Jude into a rehab program for novice vampires and keep Caro alive until the baby was born. But Raphael had saved them again. He’d helped them escape into the Sinai Desert, and for a while they’d been safe. However, immortality had not put an end to their problems.
Now, all these years later, he was deep in a rain forest, and he had the same unbearable weight in his chest and the unshakable feeling that he was about to lose something irreplaceable.
Before dawn, Jude and Hamilton got dressed and walked to the mess pavilion.
“Something is wrong with this part of the bush,” Hamilton said. “It’s too quiet.”
Jude hated to agree, but the air was still and empty. No primates chattered in the trees. No birds flitted between the branches. No elephants stood in the bai.
Hamilton pointed to a tall, rangy middle-aged man who stood outside a tent. He wore a disposable surgical mask and gloves. “That’s Walpole. A veteran from an earlier expedition. He’s British like you. A virologist. Obsessed with Ebola.”
“How long has he been in the bush?” Jude asked.
“Too long,” Hamilton said.
They stepped into the mess pavilion and got in line for the bottled blood. Hamilton gestured at a younger man who stood a few feet away. “He’s another veteran,” Hamilton whispered. “Nick Parnell. A California entomologist. Parnell must’ve gotten his neck bitten in the sixties. Maybe a surfer vampire got him. He calls everyone dude. I don’t know how a slick fella like him ended up in purgatory.”
Nick Parnell shuffled forward in the line. His long blond hair was pulled back into a club, tied with multicolored beads. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt, denim cut-offs, and acid green flip-flops.
Gunfire boomed in the distance. Jude glanced out of the tent, toward the clearing. A black cloud streaked across the grainy sky. The mercenaries stood at the edge of the clearing, firing AK-47s at the cloud.
The mess hall emptied. Vampires raced across the path, running into tents. Jude looked around for Hamilton—he was gone.
“You might want to take cover,” Parnell called. He stood by the cooler, holding a half-empty blood bottle.
“What’s going on?” Jude asked.
“The Batmobile has arrived,” Parnell said, then drained the bottle.
A massive creature flew by the mess pavilion, its body the size of a goat, its leathery wings broad as a sofa. Jude ducked.
The bat whizzed over a path and knocked down a bald-headed man. The chap scrambled to his feet, and the bat pursued him into the trees. More gunfire discharged.
Cries rose up as the bald man raced out of the trees and headed toward the mess pavilion. Two bats chased him, emitting distinct echolocation clicks. They were hunting in a team.
Jude got to his feet, his chest sawing, heart clenching, perspiration streaming down his sides.
Parnell put down his bottle and grabbed Jude’s arm. “Come with me, dude.”
They hurried out of the pavilion. In the distance Jude saw the bats swarming down a path. He followed Parnell into a smaller tent and they secured the window flaps. There was a rustling sound, and two slippered feet jutted out from beneath a cot. “Get out of my tent,” a disembodied British voice called. “I don’t want to breathe your germs.”
“Lighten up, Walpole,” Parnell said.
A man with a round face pushed out from under the cot. “Put on a surgical mask,” Walpole said. His eyes widened when he saw Jude. “You, too. The box is on the table. You can’t be too careful in this part of the bush. It’s crawling with pathogens.”
From outside, Jude heard more gunshots. A clattering noise went on and on, as if tin cans were rolling off the edge of a building.
Jude pointed vaguely at the window. “Those bats are huge.”
“Like winged Doberman pinschers,” Walpole said.
“Bigger than a Dobie,” Parnell said.
From the bai came a raw scream.
Jude lowered his head. I can’t stay here, he thought. I’ve got to resign.
“Yeah, try to resign,” Parnell said. “That’ll be fun to watch.”
“No, it won’t,” Walpole said.
Jude looked up. Had they read his mind?
“We did,” Walpole said, and his gaze sharpened. “Who is Meep?”
Jude hesitated. “A friend.”
Walpole gave Parnell a long look.
“Don’t panic,” Parnell told Jude. “Walpole and I are the only two telepaths in the camp.”
The gunfire ended. Parnell moved to the window and undid the covering, wincing at the sudden brightness. “The flying Dobies are gone.”
He closed the flap and rubbed his eyes.
Jude started toward the door.
“Wait, dude. You’ll need this,” Parnell called. He held out a metallic blanket, like what they give runners after a marathon. Stay under the trees and run like hell. Maybe you won’t burn.”
“Thanks,” Jude said, stretching the blanket over his head. When he got to his tent, Hamilton leaped off his cot.
“Whoa, Jude. Thank God you’re not dead. It would be a shame to die on your first day in the bush.”
Jude pulled off the blanket.
“You’d better hide that,” Hamilton said. “Or Lenny
and them will confiscate it.”
“Why?”
“You still don’t get it. If you’ve got UV gear, you can escape in daylight, while everybody is asleep.”
Hamilton lifted his mattress from the cot and pointed to a silver wrap. It resembled a long, thick wad of tinfoil. “See? I got me one, too.”
Jude turned to his cot and stuffed Parnell’s blanket under the mattress. When he looked up, Hamilton was pacing the length of the tent.
“I hate to dump more crap on you, Jude. But there’s a lot of talk around here. Once you sign up with Al-Dîn, they don’t let you go. People are wanting to get the hell out. If we don’t go soon, we’ll die.”
Jude nodded. “When do we leave?”
“I got a dig scheduled for tonight. When I get back, we’ll put our heads together and come up with a plan.”
From outside, the PA system crackled, and then Lenny’s nasal voice blasted. “Briefing in the mess pavilion at eighteen hundred.”
Insects boiled in the warm, dusky air as Jude and Hamilton walked to the meeting. A few spotlights had been shattered, and glass littered the path.
“This camp is falling to pieces and Lenny knows it,” Hamilton said.
“Or he doesn’t care,” Jude said.
They sat down at a table in the back of the pavilion. The other scientists were already seated, looking grim and hollow-eyed, as if they’d wandered into a funeral home. Jude didn’t see Parnell or Walpole, but he wasn’t surprised. When Lenny strode in, two men began whispering in French.
“You guys need to chill,” Lenny said. He folded his arms and walked between the tables. “Let me explain what’s going on. Then I’ll try to answer your questions.”
A dark-haired scientist stood up. He appeared to be in his midthirties, a wiry chap with elongated ears and a pixie face. “Why are the bats so large?” he asked.
“Survival of the fittest,” Lenny said. “The bats gradually adapted to their environment. We found antelope and wildebeest bones in a cave—baby bones. They dated back four thousand years. The large bats were, and still are, supreme hunters. When they were still evolving, the smaller ones died off.”
“Got an update on the death toll?” Hamilton said.
A blush spilled across Lenny’s cheeks, bleeding into his port-wine stain. “If you don’t let me finish talking, I’ll add you to the list.”
Hamilton’s lips clamped shut. Jude inched down in his chair and forced himself to breathe slowly.
Lenny moved to the front of the pavilion. “We’re in an unmapped region of the Birougou,” he said. “There’s extreme biodiversity out here. The bacteria and viruses are just as unusual. The bats you saw this morning are unique. They carry an atypical DNA virus.”
A man with auburn hair and a narrow fox-face raised his hand. “Have we been exposed to it?”
“No.” Lenny grinned, showing his incisors. “No need to worry about this one. You’re immune. Now. But three thousand years ago, you would have gotten infected. That’s what happened to the Lolutu tribe who lived here a few thousand years ago. The Lolutu got infected with the virus—either they got bitten or they may have eaten the bats. The virus caused a change in the Lolutu’s stem cells. A change that inhibited aging and boosted immunity. The Lolutu also lost the need to ingest food and developed a craving for blood.”
Jude sat up a little straighter. Was Lenny saying that a virus had turned the Lolutu into vampires? Didn’t he know that immortality wasn’t a contagious virus?
Lenny paused dramatically. “The Lolutu were the first vampires.”
“Bullshit,” Hamilton said.
A man at Jude’s table got to his feet. His small face was overpowered by a beard that grizzled out like a Brillo pad. “Vampirism is not a virus,” he cried.
The other scientists sprang from their chairs and began shouting.
Lenny raised his hands. “Shut the fuck up so I can talk,” he yelled. “Or the bats will be the least of your problems.”
The group fell silent and returned to their seats.
“A few weeks ago we tested a bat,” Lenny said. “It had high levels of monoclonal antibodies.”
“Who cares?” The man with the pixie face shrugged.
“You should,” Lenny said. “In our main lab, we injected vampire rats with monoclonal antibodies. This allowed the rats to endure sunlight for up to two hours. No burning. No blindness. No side effects.”
Jude fixed his attention on Lenny, trying to look attentive, but perspiration rolled down his spine, dampening the back of his shirt. He remembered that long-ago day when Vivi was born and the doctors were fretting over her high monoclonal antibody levels. He pressed his fist against his churning stomach.
“The bats are dangerous,” Lenny said. “But you guys are witnessing an epic moment in vampirism. We are hunting daylight. Al-Dîn will find a way for us to walk in the sun. But to do this, we need to collect—and test—some big motherfucking bats. We plan to bio-engineer their monoclonal antibodies and make a serum. A twelve-hour injectable drug. One that will block photosensitivity. It won’t be a cure. But vampires can inject themselves as needed.”
Lenny glanced around the room. “Any questions?”
No one responded.
“Meeting adjourned,” Lenny said.
Hamilton touched Jude’s shoulder. “Are you all right, buddy? You look sick.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I got to get going,” Hamilton said. “We’re digging near the river tonight. I’d run away, but Tatiana is sending her Congo cyborgs.”
It was full dark when Jude walked back to his tent. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt bigger without Hamilton’s effusive personality, filled with menacing shadows and echoes. But Jude needed solitude. He opened the cooler and pulled out a bottle of AB. He lay down on his cot, uncapped the bottle, and took a sip.
His daughter’s blood had high levels of monoclonal antibodies. And so did the bats that Al-Dîn was studying. If these antibodies held the key to day-walking, and if this knowledge was made public, then his child would be hunted—and experimented on.
I’ve got to leave this camp, he thought. I want to go home and protect my family.
A rustling noise came from the flap, and Tatiana walked into the tent, holding a lantern. “Do you have time for a private briefing, Dr. Barrett? Or may I call you Jude?”
“Jude’s fine.” He put down his bottle and started to rise from the cot.
“No, you’re fine. Stay there.”
She set down the lantern and walked to his cot. Her gaze moved to Jude’s desk and stopped on the photograph of Caro and Vivi. “Is that your wife?”
Jude nodded.
“And your child, too?”
“Yes.”
“It’s unusual for vampires to reproduce. How did you manage it?”
His pulse roared in his ears. He leaned forward and turned the picture away from Tatiana. “What’s the story on the bats?”
“Don’t worry about them,” she said. “Lenny and I have everything under control.”
“May I ask how?”
She perched on the edge of his cot, her gaze lingering on his face. “Sorry, Jude. I don’t mean to stare. But your left iris is beautiful. All those brown specks in the blue. Are you just as unique as your eye color?”
“No.”
“I think you are.” She smiled, and her hand brushed over his trousers.
He shifted his leg away from her. “Can we get on with the briefing?”
“After we get it on.” She crawled across the cot and wedged her hand against his crotch. “I’m attracted to you, Jude. Do you feel it, too?”
Yes, he felt it. But he didn’t want to. His chest burned, as if a scorching wire were twisting through him. He pushed her away. “You need to leave. Now.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I’m married.”
“So?” She rubbed the heel of her hand between his legs, moving back and forth, tugging his zipper a
little lower.
“Don’t.” He scooted toward the edge of the cot and pulled up his zipper.
“Come on, Jude. It’ll get your mind off your worries.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Right. Lighten up and have fun. Or you’ll end up like Dr. Walpole. A raving lunatic.”
“So, how often do the bats attack the camp?” Jude asked.
“Often. Sometimes they hit us in daylight.”
Before he could respond, she lunged, pinning him against the mattress, stroking between his thighs, pushing against him with the flat of her hand.
“Your body wants me,” she said.
“No.” He tried to push her off, but she gripped him tighter.
Sensations rushed through his lower extremities, and he felt himself slide toward an edge, clear and flat as a sheet of glass. He sucked in air, and then his breath came out in a rush, blowing against her blond curls.
Stop. Her. Now. He grasped her hand and flung it away.
“What is your problem?” she said.
“I don’t want this. I have a wife.”
“She won’t know.” Tatiana reached for him.
He caught her wrist. “But I will.”
She stared at him a long moment, then twisted away. “You’ll be in Gabon for a month—with me. Remember, what happens in the rain forest, stays in the rain forest.”
After she left, Jude reached into his backpack. He pulled out Caro’s blue ribbon and touched it to his nose, breathing in her smell. Long before they were even born, their lives-to-be had intersected. His father, Sir John Fleming Dalgliesh Barrett, had been a prankster during his days at Eton, and his partner in crime had been Nigel Clifford, Caro’s uncle. A stunt at St. George’s Chapel had brought the Windsor guards rushing down, and the boys’ fathers had been summoned from a cocktail party at the House of Lords.
Decades later, after Jude had begun studying the longevity gene, he’d corresponded with Nigel Clifford, and their letters had eventually led him to Caro—the old chap had been looking for a way to explain vampirism, and he’d brought Jude and Caro together.
He shut his eyes, remembering the first time he saw her. She was running out of her flat in London, her blond corkscrew curls flying around her. A jolt of sexual energy had almost knocked him to the pavement. He’d followed her to Heathrow Airport, blatantly ignoring the Barretts’ family motto: “Be Skeptical.”
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