Vampire Zero: A Gruesome Vampire Tale

by David Wellington

  After dinner most of the girls headed for a common room, where they could read or talk quietly among themselves. There wasn’t a lot else they were allowed to do. They weren’t even allowed to play board games or cards; when Caxton asked why not, Raleigh pointed out a girl named Kelli, who sat alone on the opposite side of the room, just staring into space. “She’s here because she was addicted to Internet gambling. She went through a whole trust fund in six months and then she started borrowing money with no way to pay it back. If we had so much as a game of Go Fish in here, she’d be looking for somebody to bet with on who would win.”

  One by one, or in small groups, the girls wandered off to bed. It was no later than eight o’clock when Raleigh announced she was tired enough to sleep, herself.

  It was understood that Caxton would be sleeping in Raleigh’s room that night. Caxton had expected the girl to be suspicious when she’d heard about the arrangements—surely she must have guessed something was up. Yet Raleigh had asked no questions nor even given Caxton a quizzical look. She had simply accepted Caxton’s continued presence as a fact of life and moved on.

  In the hallway Violet sat waiting for them in a massive carved wooden chair bigger than she was. The mute girl jumped up when she saw them and came racing to catch up.

  “What’s her deal?” Caxton whispered to Raleigh, nodding in Violet’s direction.

  “She drank drain cleaner and—”

  “No, I heard that from Sister Margot. I mean, is she supposed to keep an eye on us or something? She creeps me out a little.”

  Raleigh shrugged. “Sister Margot would never spy on us. She’s not like that.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Caxton said, not convinced.

  “Besides, Violet is harmless. She’s a little nutty, I suppose you could say.”

  That Caxton could believe.

  “I asked her once,” Raleigh went on, “why she tried to hurt herself. She can’t talk, of course, but she’s very good at mime. She rolled up her eyes and sighed dramatically, which I think means she did it just because she was bored. One of the other girls told me that Violet was the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Ohio. They sent her here to get the rest she needed.”

  “Psychotherapy wouldn’t have been a better option?”

  Raleigh shook her head. “She was seeing a therapist four times a week when she—when she self-harmed. But look how happy she is here.”

  Behind them Violet stopped in midstep and beamed at Caxton, showing lots of big white round teeth.

  “This place works miracles,” Raleigh said, her eyes slightly moist.

  If I have to spend more than one night here, Caxton thought to herself, I am going to start praying for a vampire attack. Just to break the boredom.

  They had reached the room that Raleigh and Violet shared, its door identical to dozens of others in the hallway. Inside it proved to be little bigger than a closet. There were two wooden pallets with thin mattresses and thinner sheets, one built into either side wall, and a tiny iron coal-burning stove bolted to the far wall. There were no windows, and definitely no room for a table or chairs or a third cot. Caxton frowned, realizing she would have to sleep either on the floor or outside in the hall. It was freezing cold in the hall—at least the stove would keep her warm during the night.

  “I don’t see a private bathroom,” Caxton said, trying to smile at Raleigh. “Is there someplace I can wash up before we turn in? And do you have a spare toothbrush?” It had been a while, and she imagined her breath was getting pretty rank.

  Raleigh gave her what she needed, including a washcloth and a bar of organic, cruelty-free soap. It all went in a cute little plastic bucket. Then she pointed her toward a communal bathroom, where half a dozen girls in various states of undress were getting ready for sleep. There was a single bathtub, which was in steady use. Not wanting to wait for hours for her turn, Caxton gave herself a disco bath—a good solid face wash and a scrub or two under the armpits with the washcloth—then headed back to the room. Raleigh and Violet were already lying on their pallets, curled up with their eyes closed. They had taken off their ugly clothes but wore flannel nightgowns instead.

  “Good night,” Caxton said, but Raleigh didn’t answer—maybe she was already asleep. Violet opened one eye to look at her, winked mischievously, then closed her eyes again and started to snore.

  Caxton closed the door, pitching the room into near-total darkness. Only a little orange light came around the edge of the iron stove’s door. She sat down on the floor between the two pallets and placed her Beretta between her knees. She had no intention of sleeping, at least not until she was sure Jameson wouldn’t attack that night. She leaned up against the far wall, careful not to touch the stove, and waited.

  And then nothing happened.

  Nothing at all. And then, more nothing.

  At some point she noted that her chin was touching her chest. Her mouth was hanging slackly open and drool was rolling down the front of her shirt. She sat up suddenly, knocking her head against the wall behind her. Had she dozed off? If so, for how long?

  She stared around the little room, desperately hoping Jameson hadn’t caught her napping. But no, both sisters were still lying on their pallets, fast asleep.

  Wiping down her shirt with one hand, she forced herself upward until she was standing. Her head rang like a bell with interrupted sleep and she could feel the blood rushing down into her body, into her legs. One of these nights, she told herself, she was going to have to actually get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Thinking she would splash some water on her face, she gently opened the door and stepped out into the hall. A single candle inside a hurricane lamp stood at the end of the hallway, providing just enough light for her to find her way to the bathroom.

  Halfway there she heard someone cry out in the dark.

  29.

  Caxton rushed forward with her weapon drawn, barely able to see in the dark corridor. The sound had come from far off, perhaps from a completely different part of the building. She had made a note, earlier, of the plan of each floor and she knew there were dormitory wings at both ends of the structure. Getting from one side to the other in the dark was going to be difficult, she thought, and unless the cry came again she might never know which room it had come from.

  She stopped herself, tried not to breathe too hard, and listened.

  There—she heard it again. Was it a cry of pain, or just terror? She couldn’t be sure. It seemed to come from a room closer by, this time. She tensed herself, closed her eyes, and—yes, there.

  Sprinting down the hall, she turned a corner and found herself in another almost lightless hallway, this one, like the other, lined with the narrow doorways that led to the girls’ rooms.

  What would she do if she found Jameson inside one of the rooms, tearing somebody to pieces? She would shoot, of course, but would it do any good? She had fired into his heart at point-blank range and achieved nothing. What made her think it would be different this time? Yet she had no idea what else to do.

  It was no time to think of such things, she told herself. She forced herself to concentrate, to listen again for the cry. She had no choice. This was what she was pledged to do, to protect people from the vampires. Clamping her eyes shut, she put every ounce of her attention into her ears.

  “Oh my God,” she heard—a sound of desperation.

  She rushed forward, into the dark. Her rubber-soled shoes slapped on the flagstone floor and she wondered if Jameson could hear her coming. The cry was louder now, and it came repeatedly—“Oh my God” this time it was nearly a sigh, and then she heard it again, much louder—“No way!”

  She stood outside the door she was certain was the source of the cries. Her weapon up and ready, she reached forward to touch the doorknob, to throw back the door and confront whatever was inside. Something bugged her about the sound, though. It wasn’t a fearful shriek at all. It was more like—

  “You’re so dead,” someone said from behind the door.


  Caxton knocked the door in with her shoulder. It wasn’t locked.

  Inside sat six girls with their knees up on the two pallets, looking terrified. One of them held a cheap flashlight that gave off less light than the coal stove.

  On the floor between the pallets lay a pile of very old, very tattered magazines. They’d been glossy once, and were folded open to pictures of various movie stars. Brad Pitt. Angelina Jolie. Tom Cruise.

  One of the girls was holding a lit cigarette as if it were a joint.

  “Please, no,” one of the girls whispered. She had a lipstick on her mouth and she hurriedly smeared the back of her hand across her lips, trying to rub it off. “Please don’t say anything. Oh, please. We’ll get in so much trouble—”

  Caxton stepped back out into the hallway and pulled the door shut again. From inside she could hear desperate whispers shooting back and forth.

  Shaking her head, taking her time, Caxton worked her way back toward Raleigh’s room. It had not been what she’d thought at all. She’d been so primed and ready for a vampire attack that any sound would have alerted her. Now she wondered if Jameson was nearby at all. He could be miles away. He could be up at Syracuse.

  That thought gave her a shiver. Or maybe it was just the frigid air in the convent. She rubbed at her own arms, and then swung them back and forth rapidly, trying to get her circulation going. She headed around the corner and tried to remember which room belonged to Raleigh. They all looked alike.

  Violet solved the problem for her by opening the door then and peeking her head out. Her eyes were very wide.

  Caxton hurried toward the mute girl and asked her what was the matter. Violet’s answer was to open the door up all the way and step aside, letting Caxton look into the little room. The stove was glowing merrily and its light clearly showed that both pallets were empty.

  “Where’s Raleigh?” Caxton asked. Maybe she had just gotten up to go to the bathroom, she thought. Maybe she’d been unable to sleep and had gone for a little walk to clear her head. She wouldn’t let herself think of the other possibility, the more dreadful one.

  Violet’s face clouded with anxiety for the first time since Caxton had met her. She shook her head from side to side, then raised her hands in a gesture of submission. Caxton frowned, which just made the girl more upset. She held up one hand with the index and ring fingers pointing down. Moving them deftly, she simulated someone sneaking away, walking carefully and softly so as not to be heard.

  “Okay, thanks,” Caxton said. She started to run off, but then stopped herself. She had no reason to believe Raleigh was in danger, not really. She had no indication that Jameson was anywhere near the building. Yet she had an obligation to the inmates to keep them safe. That was far more important than her desire not to disturb their sleep. “Go wake up Sister Margot,” she said, staring into Violet’s eyes until the silent girl nodded in understanding. “Tell her—tell her we may have some trouble tonight.” Then she was off like a shot.

  Raleigh could be anywhere. Caxton would search the entire building if she had to. Back around the corner. Down the hallway that led to the other dormitory wing—maybe Raleigh was just headed to a midnight magazine session in some other room, Caxton told herself.

  Maybe she had gone to meet her father, to tell him that yes, please, she’d like to become a vampire.

  No. That wasn’t possible. Caxton had seen enough of the girl to know she wasn’t capable of making that kind of choice for herself. Simon, on the other hand—but Simon was in another state, under police guard.

  No time to worry about Simon.

  Caxton grabbed a candle from where it burned at the top of the main stairway, studied it for a moment, then shook her head and put it back. She had a mini Mag-Lite in her pocket and wasn’t afraid to use it. Hurrying up the stairs, she switched it on and played it across the long white plaster walls.

  The third floor was empty, and silent, as it should be—it was all therapy rooms. All cold and deserted.

  Caxton moved on. The second floor, which consisted of dormitories (which she’d already checked), a big unused library, and a couple of yoga studios, was deserted as well, though the central hallway resonated with the breath of all the sleeping girls, their snoring making Caxton’s candle flicker. She peered through the gloom, looking for half-open doors or stealthily broken windows, but there was nothing to be found.

  Main floor next. The central foyer was empty. So were the offices—Sister Margot’s office door was wide open and Caxton glanced inside, found nothing. She hurried to the other wing and the big dining hall. The long wooden tables had been cleared off and the rolling carts full of bused bowls and tableware long since trundled away. Caxton studied the long, sharp shadows of the big room with her mini flashlight but found nothing, not so much as a mouse.

  She turned to go, not sure where to check next, when a noise made her shoulders jump up around her ears. It was a sound that would have made her jump at any time, but at that particular moment it nearly made her squeal in terror.

  It was the sound of a dropped spoon bouncing on a flagstone floor. A jangling, pealing sound, as loud as cannon fire in the still dining hall.

  Caxton dashed across the big room and knocked open the door at the far end with her shoulder. Beyond lay the kitchen—a room full of big prep tables and wide sinks, with iron pots and skillets dangling from the ceiling on hooks. Caxton’s flashlight beam shattered as it passed through the hanging pans and griddles and showed her odd-shaped patches of the wall beyond. She moved quickly to the side of the room and hurried toward its back, where the food was stored in massive walk-in pantries.

  Caxton licked her lips. They had suddenly gone very dry. She moved slowly, quietly, toward the open door—then threw it back all at once.

  Her flashlight shone down like an accusing finger on Raleigh, who kneeled on the floor, her face upturned and wracked with terror. She held an open jar of honey in one hand. It was her spoon that had fallen to the floor.

  “I thought you were fasting in your uncle’s memory,” Caxton said, suddenly very angry. She fought to control herself.

  “Do you know how hard it is to eat nothing for three whole weeks?” Raleigh asked, in a very small voice.

  “Come on,” Caxton said. She’d had enough of the girls’ after-hours hijinks. “We’re going back to your room. You’re going to sleep there all night if I have to sit on you.” She grabbed Raleigh’s arm, not too roughly, and dragged her up to her feet.

  The girl didn’t pull away from her as Caxton marched the two of them through the dining hall and back toward the main stairwell. Just outside the entrance hall, however, Raleigh grabbbed Caxton’s arm very tightly and shook her head.

  “Did you hear something?” Caxton asked. When she shut up and listened for a second, she heard it, too. “What is that?” The sound changed to a kind of pathetic gagging and hissing that didn’t sound like an animal at all.

  Caxton pushed open the door to the main hall and pointed her flashlight beam through, a narrow cone of light spearing through the darkness. It lit up Violet, who was slumped across the bottom steps of the stairway, her arms up in the air as if she were fending off a brutal attack. Caxton swiveled her light to the side a little—and saw Jameson Arkeley’s red eyes burn brighter than the room’s candles as he crouched over the silent girl.

  30.

  Caxton raised her weapon and fired right at Jameson’s heart. The shot tore open his black shirt, just a few inches off. The vampire spun around and glared at her, but with her free hand she was already reaching for the amulet around her neck. It felt warm in her hand, which meant it was working.

  On the stairs Violet writhed and pushed herself up a step. Her face was contorted by fear and her hands were clutching at nothing.

  Caxton fired again, and this time hit her target. The bullet clanged off his chest and spun away into the darkness. How was it possible? Jameson’s body curled up like a caterpillar in a fire, but only for an instant
. He straightened up quickly—and then he was on her. It was that fast. She felt a cold wind blowing toward her and then she was on the floor with the vampire on top of her, pinning down her gun hand, his teeth pressing against her cheek. He felt cold and wrong and he stank of death.

  His weight pressed down on her wrist and the tendons there bent and twisted. Her fingers spasmed and then flew outward and her weapon fell away. He snatched it up and threw it into the darkness.

  He held her there silently while she struggled. He outweighed her by a considerable margin, but it was his strength that truly held her—she might as well have fought off a stone statue. Clamping her eyes shut, she turned her face to the floor and tried to get her free arm up to protect her eyes, but he just grabbed her wrist and smashed it painfully against the flagstones. Her flashlight rolled away across the floor.

  She could hear Violet gasping and choking on the stairs. She could hear her own breath pushing in and out of her chest. She could hear her heart beating in her throat. Jameson was as silent as a tomb.

  Then he pulled back a fraction of an inch. Enough to let her roll over on her side. Not enough to get her legs underneath her. “I warned you off,” he said, “but you wouldn’t listen. There’s part of me that still doesn’t want to kill you. Do you believe that?”

  She didn’t answer—couldn’t. But then he shook her violently.

  “Yes,” she managed to exhale.

  “That part,” he went on, “gets smaller every night. The other part of me, the curse, gets stronger. Right now it’s telling me to tear open your carotid artery. To lap at your blood. I can imagine how good that would feel. How good it would taste. It would solve some problems, too. It would make my task easier.”

  He was trying to convince himself to kill her, she realized. He was psyching himself up. She had to think of something fast.

  “You did this to save me,” she tried. “You took the curse to save my life. If you kill me now that sacrifice means nothing.”