by Z. Rider
They sat in front of that dark coffee shop for three hours before Ray slapped the laptop shut and started the car. Buildings slid by Dan’s window. He said nothing as they pulled into the parking lot of a Super 8. He stayed in the car while Ray went to get a room key. Closed his eyes. Tried to believe there was an end to this, somewhere down the line.
† † †
“I didn’t want to tell you this,” Ray said when they were sitting on their beds in the motel room, “but there was another attack, this one in Virginia.”
Dan pulled the bag toward him. He needed a drink. Just a sip, even.
“This woman jumped another woman in the middle of a grocery store. She’d stalked her. Followed her around the freezer section, staring at her the whole time, like nothing else existed, and then she just went nuts. They brought her to the hospital, and people online are petitioning to have her—have anyone who’s been bitten—put to sleep.”
He’d lost count of how many reports Ray’d brought to him now. Strangers attacking strangers, roommates attacking roommates, an employee attacking a coworker. The bottle was empty, the taste of blood on his tongue only making him want more. He hated to let on how much his head was pounding again. Quietly, he said, “We need to find someone.”
Just as quietly, Ray said, “I know.” He grabbed the medic kit on his way to the bathroom. He shut the door, and Dan put his head in his hands. The him inside of him wanted to go after Ray and talk him out of doing it. The hunger in him kept him right the fuck where he was. He imagined the needle going in, blood rushing down the tube. He curled his fingers in his hair, gripping hard to distract himself from the war inside him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The latest was a two-day trip—drive all the way out to the Philly suburbs, get the blood (they hoped they got the blood), and drive all the way back. The drive down went fine. They got a room at a dump in Trevose, and Dan took a moment to splash his face and steady himself before they headed out. They hadn’t thought fifteen miles was all that far from the meet point, but they’d forgotten what traffic was like in southeastern Pennsylvania. Dan’s teeth were on edge by the twentieth light.
“The way back,” Ray said, “we should hop over to Route 1 and come back down that way.”
Whatever.
He pressed his head against the glovebox and gripped his shins.
“We’re going to the guy’s house. It’s not like he’s not gonna show,” Ray said.
When they finally got there, Dan sat up, then grabbed for the dashboard again.
Ray rubbed his back. “You gonna make it?”
Dan gritted his teeth. The headache was so bad it made him sick to his stomach. If he could puke one good time, he might be okay.
“Hang here. If the guy needs to see the vampire, he can come to you.” After a few seconds, Ray said, “Okay?”
“Yeah.” His gut hurt, like a cramp, but a cramp that wasn’t letting up. The door opened and shut. Ray’s footsteps faded away. In a moment, the sound of voices carried from the porch, then they stopped.
Dan pushed himself up. They were in the middle of everywhere—a street crowded with generic houses. He fumbled for the seat lever, put the seat back, and tried lying still, his hands resting lightly on his stomach. He was going to need to go to the hospital. They couldn’t keep this up. Whatever he had, it was winning.
And Ray’s latest news played in his mind: a six year old biting another kid in a school restroom—this one in Virginia like the last. Biting until the tile floor was smeared with blood. They had both kids in the hospital.
He should have Ray drive him to that hospital in Virginia—should just walk in and say, “Whatever it is, I have it too.”
He. Needed. Blood. And if he didn’t get it, he was going to be like that. He was going to hurt people.
He used the console to haul himself up, just so he could fold himself over, head against the dash, the smell of grit and rubber in the floor mat making him green all over again.
If the headache got any worse, his skull was going to crack open.
Which, at this point, sounded like a good thing.
The click of the door handle made him jerk. And wince.
Ray slid in. He hadn’t even put the bottle in the bag. “Here.” He even uncapped it for him. Oh thank fucking god.
He was downing it as they backed out of the driveway.
The bottle was empty by the time they pulled up to the stop sign at the corner. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better?” Ray asked.
“Yeah.” The headache was, at least. His stomach still cramped. He still felt green. But the headache was gone—so maybe he had food poisoning or something on top of the bullshit he already had. Wouldn’t that be a laugh?
The last place he wanted to have food poisoning was a shitty motel in southeastern Pennsylvania. “Yeah,” he said again. “How about let’s fuck the shitty motel. I can drive back. You sleep. We’ll be home by morning, crash in our own fucking beds.”
“I was hoping to scare up another donor or two before we left, but if you want to stay on the road, I’m okay with that,” Ray said. “I don’t mind driving either. You’re the one who should rest.”
Dan laughed without humor. “All I fucking do is rest.”
“All right. When we get to the interstate, we’ll swap. Are you feeling like you could eat something now?” He hadn’t managed more than a corner of toast since the morning before. At the mention of eating, his stomach knotted. Saliva rushed his mouth. He thought it was going to be another wave of nausea, but his throat muscles clenched. His guts bucked. Instead of answering, he scrabbled for the door handle.
Ray hit the brakes and swung them toward the sidewalk.
He got his head out the door in time for the pint of blood to come pouring back out, splattering the concrete, looking like a crime scene under the streetlamp’s shine.
He hung out the door for thirty seconds, forty, panting, waiting to see if there was more.
Then he pulled himself back inside, Ray tugging him back into his seat.
After another stretch of seconds, Ray said, “Maybe we shouldn’t drive back tonight.”
And all Dan could think was, We lost all that goddamned blood. He wanted to cry.
† † †
They wound up back at the shitty motel.
The first thing Dan did when he got in the room—where they didn’t even need to turn on a light because a security light blasted right in their window—was drop to his knees on the bathroom floor and heave up blood-stained stomach acids.
The headache was back.
The cramp would not let the fuck up.
He hauled himself to his feet using the sink and splashed his face, catching sight of someone who looked like he’d had his blood drained out of him. A hollow-eyed stranger in the mirror. His forehead shone with sweat, his jacket unbearable, and he shrugged out of it as he staggered back into the room. The breeze coming through the window Ray had left cracked earlier felt good, but he still didn’t.
Ray looked up, lines creasing his brow, his laptop casting a sick glow under his chin. “Should I take you to the hospital?”
Dan shook his head. He should be in a hospital, but he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be less right then, feeling like he did. Answering their questions. Being prodded. The stink of disinfectant. Explaining why he was puking blood. He reached for the bed, patting his hand out till it found it, and then he sank to his knees, clutching the bedspread. “It’s just food poisoning,” he managed, wincing. “I lost all that blood, though. Fuck.”
He started to heave again, right on the floor. There was no way he could get back to the bathroom. His body weighed two tons, and he couldn’t lift it. The carpet was rough and waxy at the same time. He could smell it, too, the synthetic fibers, the acrid scent of a vacuum cleaner that was about to burn out its belt. The dirt tracked in on guests’ shoes.
Ray put a hand on his back, crouching behind
him. The lamp by the bed cast his shadow over the grimy carpet.
The cramp clamped his stomach like a metal band, and Dan’s jaws opened wide as his muscles heaved his guts up.
Only it wasn’t guts. And it wasn’t blood. And wasn’t that corner of toast he’d nibbled at yesterday.
Something dark and wet flopped to the floor, like a fat leech.
He had no chance to make out what it was before his stomach bucked again, a choked sound coming from his throat. Another leech worked its way up—his ribs heaving, his breaths coming harsh and heavy. He gagged as it reached the back of his throat. Gagged again, watching through a film of tears as the slimy black creature fell from his mouth. A taste like soil and mildew and old, thick blood clung to his tongue.
“God,” he croaked.
Ray moved closer. “What the fuck?”
Another came up, his body forcing him to open his throat and let it through. It filled his mouth and slid along his tongue, hot and thick with slime, before it dropped with a thump next to the others.
He blinked tears out of his eyes, his face hot and clammy.
“Shit,” Ray whispered.
The tears were fucking with his vision, because it looked like—
Shit.
The things wriggled. Their shiny black bodies plumped, puffing up like bread dough.
Ray gripped his shoulder.
And another one was crawling up his throat already, choking off his voice. He retched, his sides convulsing, fingers digging into the grime of the carpet while the first of them pried its rubbery wings free from its body with a sound like tape peeling off a roll.
“Shit,” Ray said, his boots thudding.
The thing filling his mouth oozed over his lips and hit the floor with a wet thump. Dan caught a flash of Ray’s laptop swinging at the flying leech thing before he doubled over again, bringing up another. It landed in the space the first one had been. Panic grabbed Dan, like sharp skeleton fingers around his ribcage. He lifted his head at the flapping of wings.
Saw Ray swinging his laptop at that first fat fucker as it swooped into the corner of the ceiling.
The second one stretched its wings. The third peeled its open—that tape-ripping sound again, making a desperate noise choke in Dan’s throat.
The first dove toward the lamp, smacking into its shade. Ray cursed, his boots shuffling across the carpet, the laptop arcing through the air. Light flickered on the carpet as the lamp tilted and swayed. Dan squeezed his eyes shut. A hot tear welled free.
Another heave grabbed him. Something fat came up, blocking his throat, cutting off his air. He fought to get it out, spots skimming across his vision, his headache like the edge of an axe against his forehead. Ray yelled at the things, boots thudding on the floor, and Dan had to get the fucking thing out of him. Tears wet on the carpet. Another fat fucker opened its wings. The things already in flight bumped the walls and ceiling. His vision went dark red. His head hurt so much he could hear his pulse thumping in his temples.
The thing in his throat undulated, its fat body drawing itself up into the back of his mouth. It shifted forward, then a little more, then it came sliding out, sluggish and thick, stretching his mouth open as far as it would go. It hung there for long seconds, scraping the edges of his teeth until it finally squeezed free, landing with a smack on the carpet.
Dan heaved in air, wanting to throw up for real, except there wasn’t anything left in him.
Ray grabbed him under the arm. “Come on.”
Dan shook his head. Another cramp slammed him. Fuck. He couldn’t go through it again. What if this one was even bigger than the last?
A black shadow dove from the ceiling. Ray slammed it with his laptop—hitting it against the wall. It dropped to the floor. He stomped it, hard, twisted his heel.
The things were all over the place, bumping into the TV screen, thumping against the curtains. One glanced off Ray’s thigh, and Dan croaked around the fucker climbing his throat. He gripped the grimy carpet, eyes bulging—helpless. His stomach cramped hard. The things were flying, all the things. Fast. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. Two swooped into the lampshade, making it totter, making light paint the walls.
His muscles cramped again. Saliva flooded his mouth. One of the things flew straight toward Ray, who grabbed Dan’s shirt, trying to pull him up.
With the last strength Dan had, he shoved Ray onto his ass, out of the path of the flying leech. It skimmed right over his head. “Get out,” Dan forced out, tightening his stomach muscles to give the words sound.
Ray, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, scrambled toward the bathroom with one of those things swooping down on him. The door banged shut.
Dan’s throat opened. He gripped the thin carpet, holding on for dear life as another fucker worked its way out of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
His arms shook under his weight. The leeches batted walls. There was a crash—the lamp falling over—and then the only light was that stupid security lamp outside.
One of the things found the window, started smacking itself against it, fiercely, like a moth trying to get to light.
He wanted to get to the bathroom, get in there with Ray and shut the door and climb in the shower and hug himself.
He wanted to kill the fucking things.
If he could get a moment to recover. He sagged onto his side, panting, his cheek flat against the waxy, gritty carpet. He clenched his fists. His stomach ached. Two of the things banged the window.
Three.
He clamped his eyes shut. His body trembled.
At least they didn’t seem interested in him—because he was in no shape to fend them off.
Another found the window.
He wanted to pull his eyes open and watch, but it took too much energy.
Ray said, “Dan?” from inside the bathroom.
One of the things found the opening in the window, squeezed itself through. Its wings flapped like leaves of paper as it took off into the night.
Through slit eyes, Dan watched the sway of the curtain. Another one found its way to the opening.
“Dan!”
He closed his eyes, listening to the others follow. Until the room was silent.
“Dan, fucking talk to me out there. Fucking say something. Let me know you’re alive.”
He cracked his eyes open. His gaze found a black stain on the carpet, the thing Ray had crushed with his boot. At first he thought his vision was fucked up, but the stain was actually moving. It twitched. It grew. With a sound like packing tape ripping from its roll, it unstuck its wings from its body.
“Dan, what’s going on out there? Is it safe?”
It shook itself off. Flitted into the air with that papery noise that made the back of Dan’s neck tingle sickly. It made a quick circle, then dove for the open window.
“I’m coming out unless you tell me otherwise in three…”
Dan rolled a little, one hand against the carpet. The thought of pushing himself up was too much.
“Two.”
The doorknob turned in its socket.
“One.” The bathroom door swung open. He felt Ray’s quick steps across the motel room floor.
”Dan?”
“It’s okay,” he tried to say. His lips moved like they were made of molasses. He tried again, pushing his voice up his aching throat: “It’s okay. They’re gone.” He dug into the carpet.
Ray put his hands on his side, his shoulder.
The cold air made him shiver. His teeth chattered. “Window,” he managed to get out, hugging himself.
“Hold on,” Ray said. He hauled the window shut. The curtain went still.
He’d meant they’d gone out the window, but this was good too. His fingers twitched. He was covered with sweat. He shuddered. His stomach felt empty. The pain in his gut, at least, was receding.
And no headache. Thank god for that.
“How are you doing?” Ray asked, dropping to one knee.
“F-f-f-fin
e. B-b-better.” His teeth clicked.
“Yeah, you totally look it. Are you cold?”
“C-c-can you t-t-tell?” He shuddered. God, he felt even more exhausted, if that was possible.
“Hold on,” Ray said, and Dan clamped his eyes shut. The weight of blankets settled on him. He balled up under them, shivering.
“Shit.” Dan could picture him dragging his hand through his hair. “Shit, that was fucked up. How are you feeling now?”
He pulled himself into a tighter ball, pushing his face under the blankets. His breath was hot and moist under the covers. The carpet smelled foul as hell.
“Shh,” Ray said, a hand on his back. “Shh. It’s gonna be okay.”
A laugh hitched from his throat, all he had the energy for. His whole body tremored. He wanted to make a joke about how they wouldn’t need a quarter to make one of the beds vibrate, but it was too much effort to say it.
“Shh. It’s gonna be okay.”
It took forever for his muscles to start to relax. For his jaw to ease up. For the shudders to die off. Finally he was breathing easier, but he was still either too tired or too scared to move.
“What the fuck happened out here?” Ray asked.
“Found the window…” He hugged himself tighter, fingers shoved under his arms. “Started hitting at it till they found the opening.”
“Did they pay you any attention?”
“N-n-no. They just w-wanted out.” Out of him, out of the room. “Th-think it was the light they were after.” Or the fresh air. Or…who knew. His muscles tightened like he was going to shiver again, but it faded away. Jesus, this sucked. “They b-broke the lamp.”
“Small favors,” Ray said.