Vampire Zero: A Gruesome Vampire Tale

by David Wellington

  “Raleigh, right?” she asked, and held out a hand. Arkeley’s daughter nodded but kept her own hands at her sides. She wore a formless black dress and a heavy winter coat that hung on her like a tent. She wore no makeup and her eyebrows and lashes were nearly as colorless as her dress. “We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, Trooper. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Laura turned to look at Arkeley’s son. “And you must be Simon. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

  “My father isn’t dead,” he told her. “Can we get on with this sham? I have to get back to school tonight and it’s a long train ride.”

  Simon Arkeley had sharp pale features, a long thin nose and eyes that were just narrow slits. His black hair was badly combed. He wore a powder blue suit that didn’t look thick enough for the weather.

  She asked, “You’re a student at Syracuse, right? What’s your major?”

  He stared hard into her eyes. “Biology.”

  “We’re all here,” Urie Polder announced. Laura realized she was standing right in front of the stone. She would have been standing on top of the grave, if there had been one. Everyone else had formed a rough circle around her. She stepped back and stood between Clara and Patience. The little girl reached up to take hold of her hand.

  Vesta Polder took a step inward and lifted her hands, her fingers decorated with dozens of identical rings. Slowly she reached up to take hold of her veil. Laura realized the woman hadn’t spoken a word since they’d picked her up. Everyone watched, even Simon, as she slowly lifted the veil up and away from her face. She smoothed it down on her shoulders, releasing her bushy blond hair so it bounced. Her eyes were closed.

  When she opened them they looked wild—red and swollen, as if she’d been crying, but glinting with a feverish light. Her lips were pursed tight together. She turned to look at each of them, one at a time. She held their gazes until they looked away, even Urie and Patience. Then she began to speak.

  “In the old days,” she said, in a loud, clear voice, “there were no winter funerals. When a man died in the winter his body was wrapped in a winding sheet and then put in the back of the larder where it was coldest, and left until the first buds appeared on the trees.”

  Raleigh frowned. “Why was that? Was winter an unlucky time?”

  Vesta Polder didn’t seem to mind the interruption. “No. The ground was just too hard to dig. Back then every grave was dug by a shovel. A man’s back could give out if he tried to upturn frozen soil. Now, of course, we have backhoes. Graves are dug all year round. There is no grave here, however. Just a stone—not even a gravestone, but a cenotaph.”

  “What’s a cenotaph?” Patience asked.

  Vesta did not smile at her daughter or even look at her. “It is a monument to a man whose bones lie elsewhere. This stone reminds us of a man who has died. A man well worth remembering. Jameson Arkeley devoted his life to our protection. To the protection of all mankind. We can memorialize his sacrifice here.”

  His sacrifice. Laura bit her lip to keep from speaking. Arkeley had been crippled in life, unable to drive a car or tie his own tie. He’d received those wounds fighting vampires. He had made himself whole again, and strong, when he took the curse. At the time maybe he’d thought of that as a sacrifice, too. By now he was probably thinking of it as a gift. He’d had a chance to prove that his death had meaning. After he saved her life, he could have returned to her. He could have let her put a bullet through his heart. That would have been a real sacrifice.

  Instead he’d run away, into hiding. Maybe he’d thought he could beat the curse, somehow. Maybe he’d thought he could stay human. The man she’d worked with would have known better, but the curse could be very persuasive. His sacrifice had been lost to greed, greed for blood.

  “Further, we may read this stone as a warning. A warning that he is still at large.” Vesta turned to face Caxton. She held out her ringed hands and Caxton took them both. Vesta looked right into her eyes. “It is a warning, and an admonition to you, Trooper. We’ve made a place for him to rest. We’ve made a very nice grave for this man. Now it’s up to you to fill it.”

  Caxton’s heart sank in her chest. She opened her mouth to reply, but what could she say? There was nothing, no words—“I’m working on it” would have been grossly inappropriate. “I’ll do my best” sounded inadequate.

  “No!” Simon said, and grabbed Vesta’s arm, pulling her away from Caxton. The older woman reeled as if she’d been smacked across the mouth. Caxton felt light-headed for a second, then came back to herself. She jumped between Simon and Vesta and dragged the boy away from the grave, away from the circle of mourners.

  “What was that?” she hissed, marching him down a hill and out of earshot.

  “How could you let that woman talk about my father like that?”

  “She’s a friend of mine. And she was right.”

  “I don’t want you to kill my father,” he said, as simple as that.

  Caxton shook her head. “He’s not your father anymore. He’s a vampire. I don’t know if you understand what that really means—”

  Simon let out a curt laugh that had no humor in it at all.

  “—but it’s my job to hunt him down. And I’m going to do it. He’s a danger to the community. To everyone!”

  Simon brooded for a moment before replying. “Tell me something. No opinions, just facts, alright? Do you have any evidence that my father has harmed a single human being? Have you found any bodies?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then leave him the hell alone.” He turned to head back to the grave. She grabbed at his arm but he broke free easily. She half expected him to assault Vesta Polder on the spot, but instead he walked right past her, headed to the cars. “I have to go now,” he shouted, and folded his arms. It was all he had to say.

  6.

  The mourners were already breaking their circle and heading for the cars—it seemed no one wanted to go on with the dubious service. Caxton hurried on to where Angus and Raleigh were climbing into the cab of the pickup. “I’d like to talk to all of you,” she said. “You might know something that could really help me find him.”

  “Now, I doubt that highly,” Angus said. “Seeing as I hain’t visited with my brother in twenty years. Still,” he said, and stopped in midthought. He looked Caxton up and down, from her legs to her chest, failing to look as far up as her eyes. “I was gonna go wash up and take myself a nap. You want to have a drink with me tonight, that I can accommodate. I’m staying at a motel near Hershey. Figured if I came all the way up here I might as well take in the theme park. What about you, honey? You want to talk to the policewoman?”

  Raleigh looked down at her feet and blushed. “Please, Trooper. Don’t be offended. My uncle’s a good man, he just grew up poor. He’s not really as…” she scrunched up her shoulders and looked up at the sky, searching for the proper word and eventually coming up with “ignorant as he seems.”

  “I grew up pretty poor myself,” Caxton said. “The daughter of the sheriff of a dead-end coal patch just north of here. It left me more than capable of handling a good old boy or two.”

  Angus chuckled at that.

  “But you didn’t answer the question. Do you mind speaking with me? I know it might be difficult to talk about your father right now.”

  The girl pulled in her shoulders and rubbed her hands together. “No. No, it’ll be okay. Just maybe not here. Cemeteries kind of creep me out.”

  “That’s fine,” Caxton said. “We can set up an appointment for later—you live in Emmaus, right?”

  “Near there.”

  With that Caxton was ready to go. It didn’t seem likely that Simon would consent to an interview, so she figured she would just leave him alone. He wasn’t done causing her grief, however. He spent a long time talking quietly but animatedly with Clara, who eventually sighed in exasperation and came over to Caxton with her arms folded across her chest. “He wants to be taken rig
ht to the train station,” she said.

  “I’m sure we can do that,” Caxton said, looking at Angus. The older man lifted his arms and let them drop again.

  “He wants me to take him. Because he doesn’t know me and that means he doesn’t hate me yet. He says he doesn’t want to ride with his family anymore. He says they’ve betrayed Arkeley. I mean Jameson Arkeley,” she said, glancing at Angus and Raleigh. “He says, just by agreeing to talk to you they’ve betrayed him. He also doesn’t want to ride with you, because you want to kill his dad.”

  Caxton narrowed her eyes. She failed to see how any of this was her problem. She thought of Officer Glauer, though. He was constantly telling her she needed to be more sensitive to the public’s needs, and to the feelings of civilians.

  “Okay. We can work this out. Does he have a problem with Vesta?”

  “Yeah,” Clara said, “but not as much as with you. Or his family. He says.”

  Caxton looked across at Angus. “Can you give me a ride as far as Harrisburg? If you can, Clara here can take your nephew to the station and drop off the Polders on her way.”

  “You mind riding in the backseat, honey?” Angus asked Raleigh, who shook her head.

  This was tedious, Caxton thought, just a waste of time. She had work to do—a meeting of the SSU that afternoon—and it would take her time to get ready. Simon’s temper tantrum was cutting into her work time. But this was what everyday life was made of for most people, these little negotiations and obligations and impositions. All the things Jameson Arkeley had brushed aside in his pursuit of the vampires. It had made him look like a jerk to everyone who met him—including Caxton. Maybe she should try to be a little more understanding. She said her good-byes to the Polders. Urie and Vesta gave her warm smiles, but their little girl, Patience, grabbed at her hand and wouldn’t let go until she made serious eye contact.

  “Trooper, I would like to thank ye most sincerely for allowing me to come to thy service,” the girl said, rattling off the words as if she’d memorized them. “’Twas a great pleasure.”

  “You’re—welcome,” Caxton said.

  The girl offered her hand and Caxton shook it.

  “It is my most avid hope,” Patience said, “that ye should slay the fiend, afore he slays ye. Even if the odds look bleak.” Then she went and climbed into the car.

  Little girls shouldn’t be that honest, Caxton thought.

  Clara leaned out of the driver’s window and blew her a kiss, and then they were off, Simon sitting in the front passenger seat and failing to look over his shoulder at her once.

  She sighed and turned back to the two Arkeleys waiting for her. Angus already had a foot up on the running board of his pickup, while Raleigh waited patiently to climb in behind Caxton’s seat. As Caxton jumped up into the shotgun seat and pulled down her seat belt she tried to clear her mind of everything that had happened. It was time to get into interrogation mode, where she just asked questions and listened closely to the answers and tried not to make any judgments at all. She honestly doubted that the Arkeley family had anything serious to tell her, but you never knew—that was the first rule of police investigations. The last person you expected was the one who always had the best clue.

  She got her first surprise when she settled down and looked around her. The pickup’s cab was immaculately clean—even the floor mats looked freshly shampooed, though the vehicle must have had upward of a hundred thousand miles on it. Angus was the kind of man who would show up to a funeral wearing a white T-shirt and jeans fraying at the knees—yet he clearly took immense pride in his truck. The only thing that marred the interior was an open package of beef jerky shoved down into the area where the windshield met the dashboard.

  “Hain’t finished that one yet,” he said, seeing her stare at it. He turned to look at her and smiled wide, showing off a pair of gums wholly devoid of teeth. “Nice thing about jerky is, it starts hard but if you keep it in your mouth long enough it loosens up. I bought about three packs for the ride up here and I hain’t had to eat one other thing the whole way.”

  Caxton’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t seem to get any words to come out.

  “I did try to warn you,” Raleigh said from the backseat.

  7.

  For the rest of the ride to Harrisburg they made little more than small talk. Caxton was anxious to start interviewing the Arkeleys, but she needed to get them alone in controlled environments where she could record what they said and where she could think clearly enough to work out the questions that were worth asking. The pickup wasn’t built for a smooth ride—she felt every bump in the road and especially every pothole—and it was all she could do to ask the one question that bothered her the most.

  “Raleigh,” she said, “your mother. She wasn’t at the funeral.”

  The girl sighed deeply. “No. I begged and begged with her, but she wasn’t interested. She said she didn’t care to share any memories of Dad, not with strangers. Especially if Vesta Polder was there.”

  Caxton frowned. “They know each other?”

  “From way back. Mom introduced Dad to the Polders a very, very long time ago. That was back when we lived in State College. Then maybe ten years ago Mom and Vesta had some kind of falling-out. At least, they haven’t been in the same place together since and neither of them seems to want to change that. I don’t really know the details. Sorry.”

  Caxton had always been possessed of a certain morbid curiosity concerning Arkeley’s wife, Astarte. She had never met the woman, nor seen so much as a picture of her. Arkeley had rarely mentioned her and never provided even cursory information about her background. Caxton believed she still resided in Bellefonte but didn’t know for sure.

  “I’d really like to talk to her. Can you call her for me?”

  Raleigh gave her a polite but negating smile. “I can…try.”

  “Okay,” Caxton said, feeling a headache come on. “Can you give me her number, so I can call her?”

  The girl nodded and recited the digits from memory. Caxton fed them into her cell phone and then pushed the call button. The phone on the other end rang again and again without going to voice mail or even an answering machine. Eventually Caxton ended the call.

  It wasn’t very much farther to Harrisburg, to the state police headquarters. Caxton made an appointment to speak with Raleigh, then got out of the truck and headed into the building.

  Her destination was a room in the basement. It had at one time been a classroom where rookie troopers had studied the finer points of interrogation and collar processing. There were no windows in the underground room, but it did have a pair of wall-length whiteboards and a couple dozen adult-sized desks, which Caxton had found useful. It also held a bookshelf that Caxton had bought for herself and installed near the door. The bookshelf held mostly three-ring binders full of photocopied documents—every police report on vampire activity, every news account they could find, and the very few scientific papers written on vampires. On top of the bookshelf sat a laptop that got spotty Wi-Fi reception down in the basement. They were still waiting for funding to get everything digitized and put into a searchable database. Most of the SSU’s funding went to keeping the tip line open and paying Caxton’s and Glauer’s meager salaries. Next to the bookshelf stood three enormous metal filing cabinets that were still mostly empty but were meant to hold transcripts from the tip line and Caxton’s own detailed reports. At the far end of the room Glauer was there already, writing on the whiteboards.

  He had bought a coffee box at Dunkin’ Donuts and had a sleeve of cups ready to go. He offered a cup to Caxton, but the trooper got her caffeine mostly from diet soda. There was a machine upstairs that sold it, but she didn’t have time to run up and get one. The meeting was just about to start.

  She sat on the edge of a desk near the whiteboards and greeted each member of the SSU as they came in. Glauer was the only other full-time member of the unit, but there were a dozen or so other cops who attended the briefings and
were always on call if she needed them. The SSU was a joint task force operation, encompassing multiple jurisdictions. Some of its members were state troopers like herself, members of the area response team (the PSP’s equivalent of a SWAT squad) or troopers from the Bureau of Investigation. They came in first—most likely they were in the headquarters building already, just killing time before lunch. Later came some local cops from various boroughs, a lot of them from Gettysburg. Some were survivors from the vampire massacre there. Other local cops came from as far afield as Pittsburgh, Philly, and even Erie. These were regular cops who were looking to log a little overtime and they served as her eyes and ears in those distant cities. They looked half distracted, as if they had better things to do elsewhere, but they came, and that was what mattered. The last person to enter the room was a man in a black suit with a red tie. He had a small badge affixed to his lapel—a star inside a circle. The first time she’d ever seen one of those had been the first night she met Arkeley. “Deputy Marshal Fetlock,” he said, introducing himself to Glauer. He was maybe fifty years old, but he still had raven black hair swept back from a high forehead. His sideburns had gone gray, but they were cut so short that you could barely tell. “Just here for a backgrounder,” he said.

  Caxton was not surprised to see him there, though she had not invited him. The man was a U.S. Marshal, just like Arkeley had once been. Long before he had become a vampire Arkeley had retired from that service, but she knew that Fetlock and his superiors were taking an active interest in her investigation. If Arkeley started tearing people up it would look bad for the Marshals, so they had good reason to help her if they could.

  She got started once Fetlock sat down, a cup of lukewarm coffee untouched on the floor next to him. She introduced herself to the new faces and thanked everyone for coming while they took out their PDAs and their spiral notebooks. Then she got right to business.