Vampire Redemption

by Phil Tucker

  "Fine." The other man was breathing in tight, pained wheezes. He hobbled past them and painfully lowered himself next to McKnight. "She's out cold. Pulse okay."

  Lee went over to Dominique, and as he crouched down next to her, hissing in pain, a low growl emerged from the bushes beyond the road's edge. He paused, straightened. Selah forced herself up, and together they crossed the road and looked at the flattened area between the bushes were Jojo lay.

  He was near death. He should have been dead. His gray fur was matted with blood. Both arms looked broken and his skull was distended and pulpy looking. His small black eyes gleamed up at them, clouded with pain, and his head lolled to one side. With effort, he turned it back and stared at them.

  Selah gripped Lee's sleeve. "We can't leave him like this."

  "No." Lee studied the fallen chimp. "We can't." He raised his gun. Jojo looked up and his lips peeled back in one final snarl, but Lee's hand was shaking too hard. He gritted his teeth with frustration, but finally dropped his hand. He was trembling all over now and sweat was beading across his skin.

  "What's wrong?" asked Selah.

  "Serum. Overdose. Working its way through my system. Here." He held the gun out to her and staggered back a step. Breathing in sharp, rapid pants, he placed both hands on his knees and let his head hang.

  Selah took the gun. Raised it. Jojo ceased growling and a calm seemed to descend upon him. He simply lay there, looking up at her, eyes saturated with pain and loss. Selah gripped the gun with both hands. She couldn't afford to miss. One bullet. She wanted to close her eyes, fire the shot without looking, but she forced herself to meet Jojo's gaze. Even as she felt a sob well up within her, she pulled the trigger. The gun bucked and she turned away, a spasm of remorse shaking her. Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth, hating the world, hating herself. She turned and forced herself to stare down at Jojo's body. She felt numb, sick to her stomach. That gleam in his eyes. He looked strangely small now without his fierce vitality and she felt compelled to say something, but nothing suitable came to mind. She thought of the Congo, of his adoptive parents, of the years he had spent trapped in an iron cage, alone and scared. She fought down her sorrow and whispered, "Thank you."

  Chapter 16

  They hit McCance four hours later. The road leveled out and the mountains pulled back as if grown diffident in the early dawn light. Several times, the approaching roar of engines and intimations of headlights had caused them to stumble off the road into the bushes, where they lay low, watching with slitted eyes as Humvees or civilian cars roared past. Traffic was sparse though. A concerted effort to find them had not been launched.

  McCance was a small town. When the road crested the last ridge, they had a good view of its few intersecting streets before they descended to its level and approached. They walked like an errant pack of zombies, stumbling and leaning on each other, eyes bleary with exhaustion and pain. McKnight and Dominique had come to about a half hour after Theo had fled and they each insisted on walking, though they staggered as if on severed stumps and not feet. The sky gradually lightened, and with it their hope of surviving the interminable night grew, until, shivering and numb, they reached the outskirts of town.

  Selah stared down the street past the gas station and a lone Starbucks. Single-story buildings lined both sides of the street as it extended into the heart of the town, but there was no movement, no lights, no sign of life. Silence. Somewhere, crows were croaking, their caws surreal and echoing in the frozen dawn air.

  Some instinct held them still. Made them wait, hold back. Listen. Nothing--no sound of car engines or distant industry. Even the Starbucks was dark, its front door yawning wide open.

  "Looks deserted," said Gordon. Selah nodded. McCance exuded a stillness and silence that spoke of abandonment. A ghost town.

  "I'd heard people had been leaving these last few weeks," said Dominique from the back. Nobody had told her yet about Jojo. "Not enough security."

  "Looks like they done left," said Gordon. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned back, grimacing as his spine popped. He lifted his bum leg tentatively, winced, and set it down.

  "Let's find shelter," said Lee. "Maybe there are still people in the town center."

  They moved forward. The road underfoot was old enough to have degenerated into islands of asphalt separated by gravel. It crunched as they stepped on it. Selah turned and looked back, past McKnight who walked with her head down, driven by sheer bloody determination, and at the heavy mountain slopes thick with pine trees and darkness. The last six hours were an extended and blurred nightmare. The hours spent walking had seemed to last forever, but now it was all receding into a haze of fatigue.

  The Starbucks was abandoned, as was the gas station. Lee and Selah entered the small food mart behind the pumps and salvaged a number of PowerBars and sports drinks. They came back out and handed them around. Everybody stood chewing and drinking in silence, eyeing the streets and wilderness behind them, unable to completely relax. Nobody sat down.

  Selah finished her second PowerBar and shoved the wrapper in her pocket with the first. Holding her half empty bottle, she took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders painfully, and started walking. The others watched and then one by one fell in. Down the street, past empty cars. A diner. A CVS. An auto shop. A handful of residences, and then they hit their first intersection. Selah hugged herself as she looked both ways, searching for a sign of life. Nothing. She pressed on across the street and further into the heart of town.

  There were a couple of restaurants on this block, a boutique, arts and craft store. Coffee shops. Another gas station, a McDonalds. Town library on the next corner, facing a strip mall. All dark, all still. The morning light was delicate, crystalline, and the shadows were slowly lightening as if the darkness were evaporating puddles.

  One more block and they hit the town square. A church, an old three-story hotel called the Pine Rest Inn, a small city hall, and a garishly ornate Chinese restaurant. There were lights on in the hotel, and from where Selah stood, she could make out a couple of figures with rifles on the hotel's rooftop. They had been spotted. A man stared at them through a pair of binoculars. Selah raised her hand and waved. The two men conferred and one of them waved back.

  "Looks like we found somebody," she said, turning to the others. "Ready to go and act friendly?"

  "What about our eyes?" Lee gazed skeptically at the hotel. "They won't take kindly to their being black, now will they?"

  "Hold on," said Selah. She took off jogging, forcing herself to run despite the pain in her feet and her hips. Back down the street and into the strip mall. There were only six stores, but she had spotted one called Ernie's Wilderness Gear. She tried the front door. It opened and she breathed a sigh of relief. Silence. Soft shadows of a different nature than those outside. Aisles extending into darkness, a counter up front with a column of sunglasses. Selah glanced into the depths of the shop, resisted the urge to grab jackets and scarves, and instead snatched up two different sets of shades and left.

  The others were waiting for her, too exhausted to do more than stand morosely and stare at the hotel. She handed Gordon one set, and Lee a pair of bronze rimmed Aviators. They tore off the tags with clumsy fingers and slipped them on.

  "All right," said Selah, looking at Dominique who had her eyes closed and was swaying. "Come on." She wrapped her arm around Dominique's waist and led her across the street.

  The hotel was an old building with ornate window frames and a heavy front door. The windows on all three stories had been boarded up. The men up on the roof watched her approach with rifles by their sides.

  One of them, a bearded man with a baseball cap and a heavy red fleece, looked down at her and called out, "Where you coming in from?"

  "The army base," called back Selah, stopping and craning her head back.

  "It been overrun?"

  "No. We just got out and left. It's been a long night and we're hurt pretty bad. Can we come in?"


  "Sure. Sun's coming up. We're in the clear now." He raised an old-fashioned walkie and spoke into it. The front door cracked open and two people stepped out, glancing around cautiously like foxes emerging from their den. Selah hobbled over and they reached out to help with Dominique. One was a woman in her late thirties, her caramel-colored hair shoulder length, face broad and strong, while the other was a man in his early forties, hair already mostly iron-gray, face smooth, and eyes like two metallic ball bearings.

  "Here, you're all right, you're all right," said the woman as Dominique stumbled.

  "Any of you really hurt? Need a doctor?" The man spoke with a strong Irish accent, and it took Selah a moment to process his words.

  "No. I mean, we're pretty banged up. But no, like, wounds or anything. I don't think." She looked back at the other three who came in behind. The Irish man scanned their group and stepped aside.

  "Come on then, get inside. No sense in standing out here. We can make introductions where it's warm."

  They filed into the lobby. It was warm, deliciously warm. Somewhere, food was cooking, the smell of bread and maybe soup, hearty and delicious. Selah's mouth flooded with saliva. They all shuffled in and the woman helped Dominique to a seat. The Irish man closed the door and a handful of other people came forward. The lobby was of good size, but even so it was hard to see everybody.

  "All right, don't crowd them, give them room." A powerful woman in her sixties came forward, her gray hair pulled back in a bun, her face craggy and strong featured. "My name's Helen." She scanned their faces and settled on Gordon. "Are any of you seriously hurt?"

  "She said not," said the Irish man.

  "No, ma'am, " said Gordon. He raised a hand as if to remove his shades, then dropped it. "Just cold, sore, and in need of rest."

  "You come down from the mountains?" Helen looked sharply from one of them to the other. McKnight was still in her army fatigues, and both Lee and Gordon gave off a subtle military vibe. "Never mind. Fenton, help the men to empty rooms. Susan, Jane, help me get these ladies to rooms of their own. First, they need hot baths, then some food, then sleep. We can talk later."

  Selah felt a wave of relief flood over her. She didn't feel up to introductions, explanations, interrogations. People stirred, voices murmuring about them as the Irish man – Fenton – led Gordon and Lee out of the lobby. Helen stepped up to Dominique and crouched before her with surprising agility, and placed both hands on her thighs. "Look at me," she said, her voice gentle. Dominique raised her face. Helen touched her chin, wide lips pursed, and shook her head. "Concussion, maybe. Exhaustion and cold, most likely. Come on. There's no doctor in town, but we'll do what we can." She pushed herself to her feet, and Susan, the lady who had met them at the door, helped Dominique rise.

  Helen moved to McKnight, who stood with clenched jaw and was blinking back exhaustion, swaying subtly in place. The older woman examined the Sergeant's face, the rash of mottled bruises and bloodshot left eye where Theo had struck her, and simply nodded. "Come on, then."

  They made their way through the lobby, into a large reception hall, and then up a flight of stairs covered in thread-worn red carpeting. Down a narrow hall that smelled of dust and old leather, and to the first door on the right. The room was large, two king-sized beds set against one wall, with two large windows to their side, both of which were heavily boarded up so that only faint chinks of light entered. Helen took control. She and Susan undressed Dominique, who kept fading in and out of consciousness, and after discussing the situation, simply tucked her into bed. The third woman--Jane, a slender girl in her late teens with multiple piercings in her nose and eyebrow--went into the bathroom and began to run a hot shower.

  Selah sat in a heavy armchair. The warmth in the room was prickling her frozen extremities, sinking into her body and thawing her out. Her feet were still frozen solid within her boots, but she felt drowsiness steal over her. The women were talking. Their voices were growing distant. The warmth lulled her. The armchair was incredibly soft and she felt as if she were sinking into it. She saw McKnight being ushered into the bathroom and closed her eyes.

  Somebody shook her gently by the shoulder. She cracked open her eyes. Everything hurt.

  "Come on. Your turn." Selah tried to protest, to turn away, but Helen was unlacing her boots, pulling them off and sending jarring shocks of pain through her lower legs. She felt her socks being peeled off, and then both Susan and Helen took her by the elbows and wrists and pulled her up. She staggered into the bathroom, felt them take off her jacket, and then did the rest herself, stepping into the hot shower with a gasp.

  Perfection. Delight. Heaven. The water pressure wasn't the best, but Selah simply closed her eyes and stood under the hot water, felt it prick and scald her skin, run over the fuzz on her scalp, down her face. She turned to take the water down her back, then around again so that the hot water could wash her chest, run down her stomach. Still hugging herself, she ducked her head down and felt her feet burn as they came awake. This was glory. She felt knots in her shoulders begin to slowly relax. Nothing could be better.

  She emerged twenty minutes later, shampooed and clean, and was buried in a massive cotton towel by Helen, who seemed to have no qualms about invading her privacy or treating her like a child. She was firmly toweled dry and then bundled up and ushered into the bedroom. McKnight was seated on the edge of the bed, hair wet, wrapped in a towel and wearing a bathrobe, face scrubbed clean, cupping a heavy mug to her lips. Selah sat next to her, and Susan pressed a mug into her hands. Soup. Vegetable broth. She took a sip. Salty and delicious.

  "Now, drink that up, and sleep. We'll talk when you wake." Helen wiped her hands on her thighs.

  "Thank you," said Selah. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Helen grinned at her, showing yellowed teeth. "Now hurry up and drink that, then go to sleep. Come find us downstairs when you wake."

  Jane curled a strand of purple hair behind her ear. "Where do I know you from?" She was looking closely at Selah.

  "Later." Helen ushered Jane out the door. Susan followed after, pausing before closing the door to smile at them both. "Sleep well."

  The door closed. Selah looked at McKnight. The other woman was staring out at nothing. The bruising was awful, her left eye swollen nearly shut. Mechanically, McKnight raised her mug to her lips, drank, lowered it. She looked desolate, alone, bereft.

  "Why did you help us?" McKnight, blinked, and turned to look at her. Studied her. Didn't say anything. "I mean. You're going to get kicked out of the army now, right? Why? Why throw everything away?"

  McKnight looked away. Finished her mug and set it aside, and then lay back on the bed. She looked up at the ceiling, one fist on the pillow by her face, the other over her chest. Selah realized that she wasn't going to answer, so she finished her own mug. It warmed her from within, eased an ache she hadn't realized had pained her. She walked around to her side of the bed.

  "I did some research. After I dropped you off," said McKnight. "Called the General that had given me the orders. Back in LA. An aide of his put me in touch with an aide of General Adams. A guy called Cloud. He told me about you. What was going on. What was happening." McKnight closed her eyes. "I didn't feel like I had a choice."

  "Oh," said Selah. She sat down and looked at McKnight. Thought of when she had first met her several weeks ago. The initial interrogation. The disdain and anger. Now, here she was, wrapped in a white bathrobe, showered, exhausted, beaten, and no doubt guilty of treason. She looked small, wrapped in the huge robe, but her face remained hard, mouth a line.

  "Thank you," said Selah. She looked down at her hands. The hot water had stung cuts and scrapes, washed off the scabs. There was still some dirt under the nails. "Thanks." Exhaustion curled through her like steam rising from a great mug of coffee. McKnight didn't respond. Was probably already asleep.

  Selah rubbed at her face. She should sleep, but something kept her awake. She rose and walked to the window. Looked out through a ga
p in the boards at the abandoned town of McCance. The sun had yet to clear the mountain to the east, but the sky above them was now a clear and delicate blue. The vampires and Blood Thralls had no doubt gone to ground. Theo was somewhere out there, healing, resting. Gathering his strength. The military would be searching for them too. They wouldn't be able to rest here. They'd have to move, and soon.

  Selah rested her forehead against the cold glass. Closed her eyes. A deep fatigue was in her, a bone-sapping exhaustion. The comedown from the Serum, hours of adrenaline, the Blood Thralls' power, the pain and cold. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so tired. So dispirited. She tried to recall. Maybe when she had pulled herself off the road outside the LA Wall after hurling herself over it. Broken and bloodied. Maybe.

  Selah pushed away from the window. Turned and looked at McKnight. Looked through her, and recalled Theo's distant and feral eyes. Tried to think of what McCance's abandonment might portend. What tomorrow might bring. Of the thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of Blood Thralls out there in the wilderness, hiding themselves in caves and under mats of leaves or in abandoned homes, pulling closet doors shut after them or stealing down into basements to await another night. Tried to think of the immensity of what was still to come, and how the President of the United States himself had arrayed his powers against her.

  It was all too much. She staggered to the bed, fell into it, and sank into oblivion.

  Chapter 17

  Selah awoke to the sound of McKnight humming softly to herself. Turning her head, she saw the other woman seated on the edge of the bed, back toward her, running a brush through her newly wet hair. Selah lay still. She was warm. The pillow was a little dusty, but it was soft and she was afraid of awakening her aches and pains. So she lay still and listened to McKnight's low-throated hum, the soft melody that she repeated quietly over and over as she ran the brush through one side of her hair then the other.