Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Rook, Rowan

  A man stood in the alley. His back was towards them, but his buzz-cut crown and faded leather jacket were too familiar to fool Mason. The fear of never seeing his brother again dissolved into the same prickling irritation he felt almost daily. Martin. They'd found him, right where Sorrel had said they might. The rush of relief made it hard to stay still.

  He tensed, ready to surge forward like a cop on a criminal, but Sorrel held out an arm to stop him with a hissed shush. He blinked at her, and she answered with a whisper. "Wait."

  Martin was still on the move, creeping around the next turn into a deeper vein of the alley. They followed, Mason mirroring Sorrel's silent lead. When they turned the corner, they were no longer the only ones there. A man dug through a nearby dumpster, uttering curses and complaints, oblivious to all three of them.

  Something was strange. Martin kept slipping forward, slowly and deliberately. He moved quietly – careful – but with a peculiar sense of power. Mason's eyes followed the back of his brother's head...towards the back of the other man's.

  The scene was familiar. Cold fingers of unease crawled up his spine, waiting. He realized what was going to happen only an instant before it did.

  Martin lunged for the back of the stranger's skull and slammed it against the dumpster. The victim never got the chance to scream before it was over, falling limp atop the trash. Lingering echoes of metal on flesh shook the alley as Martin sunk his teeth into his victim’s neck. His throat bobbed up and down. A thin, red trickle crept down his chin.

  Mason swore that same small spill of blood was dribbling down the nape of his own neck. The chill spread from his hands and feet and silenced his lungs. He should’ve been shocked, but instead, he was numb. He almost laughed.

  Martin was a vampire. After all the work he’d gone through to hide it and all those sleepless worries of discovery, he and his brother were the same. At least he knew now what Martin had been up to all those nights he’d left them alone.

  He stepped forward before Sorrel could interject, staring down his brother’s back with eyes like stone. “Martin.”

  Martin startled, his kill collapsing to the cement with a wet thud. Blood dribbled from his gaping mouth. “…Mason?”

  Mason's hands clenched into fists, so tight they would've drawn blood, had it been there to spill. “How long?” He heard something change in his own voice – something loud, angry – as he mirrored the words that Merril had pierced him with.

  His brother straightened, waiting a few beats before answering. He wiped his chin with the sleeve of his tartan shirt. “About a year. Much longer than you.”

  Mason was quiet.

  Martin laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t think I didn’t know!” He shook his head. “I could smell you that night when we came back from the clinic – dead. Lots of blood. I never did anything; I thought you’d rise. I knew you’d rise. You’re too stubborn not to.” A bitter smirk. “I knew before I ever knocked on your door.”

  Mason was quiet.

  “You, though…” Martin passed him a strange grin. “You never had any idea, did you? The plague took me while I was on the way home from work one night, and when I came back in the morning, it was just another late night out to you. I'd say I'm the better actor.”

  “How could you?” He accused like a stubborn child. "How could you just...?" It was nearly as hard to talk as the morning he’d risen. He stopped and forced open his tense lungs. “Why didn’t you say anything? I was terrified! I had no one! If you’d… If you’d just –”

  Martin laughed. “Well, now, did I just hear my little brother say he wanted me around? That’s a first.”

  Mason shook his head. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because my job is to protect you and Merril. I didn’t want you to become the monster I am.” He stretched out his arms, like he were displaying the body splayed on the ground in all its empty glory. “Do you remember that boy you found lying in his yard? You almost caught me then. You would have if I hadn’t heard Molly and her incessant noise.”

  The boy in…

  Mason gaped, pupils stretching with the weight of his brother's words.

  Sorrel came up beside him, but her face didn’t share the same horror. “So it was you, then?” Her eyes burned into Martin’s. “I thought so.”

  “Do you see why I didn’t tell you?” Martin curled his lips into a stoic line. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed? Far more than I needed to. I crave, you see. I kill when I don’t thirst.”

  Mason tried to control his tongue. “Kill?”

  The murder he’d blamed Sorrel for. The bitten boy. The rumors of rouges. Were they all his brother’s doing? Memories flashed through his head, replaying with cold, still clarity.

  The way Martin had gone missing so frequently. The way he'd returned late from errands and work. The way he'd fidgeted with his sleeves. His harsher attitude. Now that Mason thought about it, he hadn’t actually seen his brother eat for a long while, either. Cook, sure, but not eat. The meals had all been for Merril, he realized. And his disappearances had been for blood.

  Mason's useless insides sunk lower in his gut. He should’ve suspected it sooner.

  This time, Martin nodded. “That’s right. I kill. I kill when there’s no need. Why? Because of the way it feels. Because of the way it tastes.”

  Mason just stared. “I thought you were stronger than that.”

  No, Martin had always been weak. His brother had poisoned his adolescence with alcohol, and was as quick as ever to rely on his fists. So, why did he feel so disappointed? Had he actually thought his brother had changed?

  Martin found his gaze and fixed him with the flicker of a smile. "I guess, somewhere deep down, you really did believe in me, huh? It makes me wish I met your expectations." Another shake of his head. "I'm not strong. I'm not human. I’m just an animal. And I didn’t want that for you.”

  Mason held the stare for a while. Their brown eyes looked so much alike. "Why?" He returned to that same useless word, like a child trying to understand death.

  “Because you are strong.” Martin's eyes narrowed into serious slits. “You were always the strong one. I wanted to protect you, but I knew the one thing I could never protect you from, was me. Was this. I thought that perhaps I could protect you from the truth instead.”

  Mason's Adam’s apple bobbed, but his tongue couldn’t find any words to say. He turned to Sorrel to stop his eyes from burning. “Did you know?”

  “I knew he’d gone rogue. Dale told me about him – a new riser who’d refused to stay at the prison a while back. That’s why he let you go, you know. You lived with another vamp, so he wasn’t too worried about humans finding out. Your guardian already knew.” Her gaze narrowed as she moved it to Martin. “I was never sure who it was committing the murders, but I had my suspicions.”

  “How could I have stayed in the prison?” Martin ignored her, watching his brother. “I couldn’t leave you and Merril alone. Looking out for you is the one thing I thought I could do right.”

  There was a silence. Martin waited – for an answer, a response, anything – but Mason said nothing.

  Something shifted in Martin’s eyes when he gave up. “I got tangled up in the riots, though, and when I realized you were gone, I didn’t bother going home.”

  “Why didn’t you at least come to the prison? Did you look for us at all?” Mason demanded, nails leaving lines in his palms. Why were his eyes wet?

  Martin heaved a slow, long sigh. “Listen, Mason. We aren’t the same. You aren’t the monster I am. I didn’t want this to happen, but things have changed now.” Something cold flickered behind brown irises. “We can’t be a family anymore.”

  Mason’s body went cold, as if he'd noticed the chill of death for the first time.

  “The riots were a replay of Rocher, and it’s only going to keep repeating. Merril needs to be somewhere safe, with other humans. You need to be with vampires who can find as much peace as
possible. I don’t belong in either of those places – I can’t belong there.” Martin leveled his voice. “We have to go our separate ways, all three of us.” He smiled with solemn lips. “If I want to keep you safe, this is the only way I have left now.”

  …Separate…ways?

  “You’re wrong!” Mason’s head shook on a shivering neck. “We are family! We’ve always been family! We can’t just…!” His vision wavered, swimming with something sharp. “We wouldn’t have anything left!”

  “Hope. You’d have hope.” Martin's smile never flickered. “What's left of it, at least.”

  “But –”

  “If we stay together, Merril will die.” His brother stopped him before he could finish. “Soon. You’ll follow either her fate or mine. If she finds somewhere safe, then at least she can keep the years she has left. And you'll have a chance to keep going.”

  “I don’t want that kind of future!” He yelled, face red. His tight lungs strangled the air he needed to speak.

  "I'm sorry." Martin looked away. "I didn't want it to end up like this, but if I'm not strong enough to fight myself, I don't know what ever made me think I was strong enough to fight the tide. Guess I failed you again."

  Mason just glowered, his mind so full of words and shouts that his mouth found none.

  “Hey! What’s going on back here?”

  The voice wasn't one they recognized. All three vampires froze, jolting around. A group of nine strangers stood there, gawking. Some looked bewildered, some looked frightened. Nine sets of eyes flew from them to the body on the ground.

  Mason went numb with terrible déjà vu.

  “That man…he’s…!”

  “N-no way…!”

  “Vampires! They’re vampires!”

  "Demons!"

  It was happening again.

  “Run!” Sorrel shrieked, a fear he’d never heard before in her voice. “There are too many of them for us to take!” She was already ascending the nearest banister.

  A couple of men charged before the other two vamps could react, hammers in their hands. Were the city people armed now? “Wretch!” The human’s eyes bulged out of his skull.

  Mason ducked to the side, letting the burly man tumble over him before leaping up and sinking his fangs into the stranger’s neck. He started drinking before he could stop himself, the wet tang spilling into his mouth and begging him for more.

  “Mason, let’s go!”

  His brother’s voice brought him back to reality. He dropped the half-dead man beneath him and leapt for the banister. A third corpse lay below, fang marks seeping red. Martin must’ve taken care of that one.

  They fled across the rooftops like ghosts returning to the sky. Footsteps pounded the pavement below, but Mason never stopped to see if the humans were following.

  The only thing they could do was run, clinging to the center of the skyline. He’d made it home that way once, and he could do it again. He let himself believe it was all a strange dream – an existence where his body moved perfectly and his limbs never missed – as he leapt from building to building across the city’s low horizon.

  Chapter Fourteen: Towards the Sun

  “I’m sorry, Merril.” Martin’s voice was unusually soft.

  Merril refused to meet his eyes. She stared at the floor, the rise and fall of her chest ragged. No one said anything.

  The three of them had made it safely to the prison. Martin had ended up there unwittingly, and according to him, it was the last time he’d step foot inside. He wanted to say goodbye to Merril. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to apologize. Then he wanted to leave.

  Mason gritted his teeth.

  His brother had told his old friend everything. What he was. For how long. She hadn’t said a word.

  “Merril…you can’t stay here. Survivors are gathering in the center of the city. You’ll be safe there. You have to go.” Martin narrowed his gaze. “This isn’t any place for a living human girl. There will be more violence. It won’t end. Not for another four years.”

  Mason’s neck bristled with anger. Martin was coercing her to leave. To leave him.

  “No!” He shook his head. “I’ll keep her safe! We’re not going to fight anymore. And everyone here…everyone left knows how to control their hunger. She’ll be fine!”

  Martin said nothing for a while. Sorrel just watched, standing silently in the corner of the cell with those curious eyes of hers.

  “You still haven’t realized yet, Mason. Hope is in short supply nowadays. We can find it, we can cling to whatever traces are left, but we can’t make our own when it isn’t there.” His brother’s eyes were steady, solemn. “She wouldn’t survive. Not among the dead. That’s the simple fact of the matter. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Mason sputtered a wordless, frustrated whimper. It was all he could do to keep his voice from rising. Martin couldn’t take her away. He couldn’t! His brother and his best friend couldn’t just…

  Merril finally looked up. “Can’t I make my own decisions anymore?”

  The two men fell silent.

  “What does survival even mean, now? And how long would it last? Another four years at best? I’d rather live one more happy year than four more sad ones.” Her nails dug into her sheets. “But, I don’t know what that would be anymore. After all…” she closed her eyes, “my family is dead.”

  Cold fingers squeezed Mason’s chest, injecting it with ice that replaced the blood in his veins. He tried not to let the hurt reach his face. “You’re wrong! We’re…we’re still here! We’re still alive!”

  Were they? Their hearts were quiet, their lungs didn’t crave air, and their bodies didn’t grow or change. Yet, they were still there, watching the days melt away to nights. They were still in sync with time. Debating over the definition of a word seemed like a waste of time. It wouldn’t change anything. In whatever way, they were there.

  Merril’s eyes were wet when she opened them and met his for the first time in a while. “You’ve killed too, haven’t you?” Sudden recognition flashed across her face. “Was it you who killed the mayor’s son?”

  He stammered, unable to hold her gaze.

  Her lids drooped. “Then you aren’t Mason anymore.” They fell over her irises, water seeping loose and dampening her cheeks. “He’s gone.” There was something impossibly sad in her voice, something small, frail.

  It was grief.

  “No!” He leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders before he could stop himself. “I –”

  “Don’t touch me!” She shrieked, pulling away. “Your hands are so cold.”

  He stared, eyes blank. Something burned behind them. “But I’m…still here. I…”

  A scream ripped through the hallway below. It was distant, but so shrill it climbed up the stairs and reverberated off the walls. Quiet. A tense hush crawled through the prison like electricity. Every hair on his body stood on end.

  Footsteps followed, pounding across the floor. It was the watchmen – just two of the three. “Humans!” One of them shouted, voice booming through the building. “There’s a whole squadron at the gate. They’re breaking through! We locked it and fled, but Hector, he…”

  “He’s dead!” The other screamed. “They shot him! They’ve got guns!”

  The words spilled emptily through Mason’s mind, passing through one ear and out the other with no footprint. Merril, Martin, and Sorrel gazed through the door with equally vacant faces.

  Sorrel was the first to move, dashing from the cell. Martin looked back at Merril before following. “Wait here.”

  Mason straightened. His brother’s order may have been meant for him, too, but either way, he was going with the others. He passed Merril a forced smile. “We’ll be back in a bit.” He locked the door on the way out.

  The small group made its way downstairs. They weren’t the only ones. The moans of creaking doors cluttered the air as bodies emerged and gathered in the hallway. Even the doctors peeked fro
m the corridor that led to their lab. No one got too close, clinging to the outskirts like animals greeting unfamiliar guests.

  The man from the watch gasped down a deep breath. “It’s the police! The old police force from Wheldon! We heard them talking. The mayor lent that lunatic Swalow the entire department! Bastard's hungry for revenge.”

  “The…police?” Sorrel swallowed. She clenched her teeth, eyes set determinedly into her skull. Mason wasn’t sure whether he was looking at fear or resolve on her face, but somehow, he felt nothing. It was just another strange nightmare.

  The female guard piped up, equally unsteady. “They were talking about research. The mayor wants some of us alive to study – to try to save their own skins. Idiots! We’re already dead.”

  Research? So it was just as he’d once asked Cliff.

  Something shifted in the male guard’s gaze, sharpening from terror to anger as he searched the room. “They followed someone here – Hector saw a group of vamps run this way earlier this morning!”

  Mason swallowed before he could stop himself.

  Had there…still been someone tailing them when they’d reached the prison?

  “That doesn’t matter now!” Dale barked, cutting in for the first time. He pushed his way to the center of the room. “How many are there?”

  The two guards exchanged a glance. “About forty.”

  Sharp inhales filled the chamber that was generally devoid of breath.

  Forty humans. Even if they released the captives, there were less than half that many vampires left in the prison.

  “They’re armed! Guns and goddamned torches!” The watchman stomped towards his leader, words quivering as his rage gave way to fear. “They’re coming to kill us, Dale! It’s revenge for what happened in the city. We have to run!”

  Dale closed his eyes, hands balling into fists. “Then we will.”

  “No!”

  Mason jumped, his gaze swinging after the unexpected shout. It’d come from Cliff.

  “We can’t leave! There’s no way we could move all our research! Not like this! If we lose the project…” The doctor's voice rose, tight in his throat. “If we lose the synthetic blood project, we lose everything!” Mercy nodded silently, staring at the floor.