Back out in the open she sat down. The shoes were too clumsy. She took them off and put her socks inside them. Standing up on bare feet she felt less restrained, more able. She checked her hand in the moonlight. The skin hadn't been broken, but teeth marks were still visible. It angered her. With determination and adrenaline lulling the fatigue into submission, she plowed back into the undergrowth.
Treading carefully, feeling far more in control and at ease on her bare feet, Beth didn't give a second thought to the occasional sharp twig and stone. They merely scratched, but didn't bother or hinder her. She even dared to enjoy the feel of the soil between her toes and it all felt somehow natural, as if in some previous life this was how she had lived.
Though her thoughts wandered, she was soon pulled back to the here and now by the scent and sound of another animal, approaching from the same direction as the last. Beth adhered to the downwind theory. She waited until it got as close as she guessed it would dare, and then she sprang.
The running seemed easier this time and she was able to keep up with the scurrying animal's twists and turns, grabbing branches and thinner tree trunks to aid her turning. It was a different animal, a faster one, but she kept up and felt good about her chances. She was about to dive on top of the creature when it darted to the right and leaped to the entrance of its burrow. It scuttled down and out of Beth's reach despite another spectacular dive that ensured any part of her dress previously untouched was clean no more.
Cursing, she sat up next to the tree and rested, panting hard and trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. It was a hard decision to make. Her breathing returned to normal without so much of a chuckle or a tear. In the silence a tiny vole came sniffing up to her. With the creature no more than a few inches from her motionless hand, Beth considered her options. With a quickness that startled her as much as the vole, she snatched it up. It was too small for her needs, but out of the darkness, an idea came to her.
It could be used as bait.
It struggled, trying to free itself from her grip. Beth panicked at what to do and in a rush she closed her eyes and squeezed her hand into a fist. She felt the tiny skeleton cracking and popping as the rodent became lifeless. Beth dropped it to the ground and shuddered.
It was the first thing she'd ever consciously killed in her life, and the thought quickly occurred that it wouldn't be the last. She wanted to cry and go home, but the thirst wouldn't let her. Instead she was frozen with sadness and sat motionless, staring at the small lifeless lump, waiting for her craving to overcome her regret. It was a terrible conflict.
At the sound of something bigger approaching, Beth got to her feet. She was no stranger to climbing trees—she'd taught her brother—and even in the dark she made light work of getting to the first, thick branch. Without her shoes, she was able to easily prowl along the branch. Then she waited directly above the dead vole below. Her mind was back in focus; she tried to find that killer instinct which she sickeningly knew had to be somewhere within her.
The animal—the biggest so far—came closer. Her eyes finally made it out to be a fox, warily approaching where the dead vole lay. It was already close enough for her to pounce on, but she kept still and waited for it to take hold of the rodent. The fox traced the smell and picked up the vole in its jaws. Beth fell silently from the branch, with unintentional grace. The fox sensed danger, heard what little sound she'd made, and tried to run. It was too late. Beth landed in the soft soil like a cat. Her right hand grabbed its snout and gripped it shut, while her left arm scooped around its body. Through the fox's whimpering and whining, Beth settled down onto her knees. Her adrenaline rocketed. She smelled soil, bark, wood, the vole, the fox.
And blood.
The fox's teeth must've pierced the small rodent's body and she soon felt the warm fluid running over her fingers that kept the fox's jaws clamped. Her thirst gripped her. Her prey struggled. She wanted to release the snout so she could lick the blood off her hand, but knew it would give the fox too much of a chance to escape.
She looked at the fur of the wild dog's neck. The thirst subsided and she turned away, put off by the thought of its hair in her mouth. But her thirst wasn't put off for long, reasserting itself strongly. She looked back. She twisted the fox's head down and away from her to stretch the neck. Her gums stung as the hidden length of her canines pushed through; a long upper pair and a shorter lower pair. With her tongue, Beth could feel a shallow line of sharp serrations running up the back of them. She didn't need to think to know what they were for; fangs were pointed to penetrate skin but blood-flow would be minimal. The serrations would aid ripping the skin apart, tearing gashes into the hide of any living creature for blood to pour, not drip.
Blood.
The promise of it, hot and fresh, flooded Beth's senses and she opened her mouth. She gave in to the monster. She was no longer in control, unable to stop herself even if she wanted to. Her head lowered, closing in on the animal's neck. Her eyes were about to close when a light breeze rustled the leaves above her. A thin beam of moonlight pierced the gloom and lit the white of the fox's eye. It strained to look at her with a startled plea. It was defenseless and knew death was upon it.
Its fear looked so human.
Beth lifted her head and closed her mouth. Her fangs rested perfectly over and under each other, but began to slowly recede. The disgust she had over killing the vole returned and she immediately felt horrified that she could even entertain killing a far bigger animal. So ready to rip its throat out only moments earlier, Beth let her grip on the fox weaken, and it kicked free, disappearing into the undergrowth—vole and all.
Beth collapsed backward up against the tree. The thirst inside punished her for her sentimentality. With a tear rolling down her cheek she started to suck the vole's drying blood off her fingers.
And then she doubled over as her first cramp took root.
THIRTY-FOUR
THE GENTLE, RHYTHMIC BREATHING of the beautiful woman lying with her back turned to him was normally a melody that sent Bill straight to sleep. Before Oliver was born, Lynne was the only anchor he had to the world everyone else believed to be real. It was yet another reason why she could never know the truth. In the past when sleep evaded him, Bill would turn and gaze upon his sleeping wife, admiring her peaceful slumbering and reminding himself how lucky he was to have her love.
On this night, however, Lynne's peacefulness offered no soothing effect, and Bill was in no mood to count his blessings. Instead, he was left to stare into the infinity of the black ceiling above him. Even with his night eyes, the blackout blinds made the bedroom a black void. With no light, claustrophobia could grip the most fearless man. It was no wonder people were generally gloomier due to the restrictions. It sometimes felt like the daylight itself was rationed.
Musings on the effect of light deprivation distracted him from what was keeping him wide awake. It had pushed his concern to the back of his mind, but the recognition of that relief brought the problem at hand rushing back to the fore.
It wasn't just about whether Beth would be able to catch anything. He couldn't get out of his mind the image of her sitting on the bunk in need of her vice. It unnerved him, because he'd seen that kind of behavior before.
His covert occupation was no walk in the park, and it took its toll. There weren't many Shadow Ministers, but most of them drank; it was fortunate that the church didn't frown upon such activity. Once, Bill came across an aging Shadow, a lonely hermit who'd been pushed too far and could only find relief and happiness in clouds of opium. Seeing someone in need of another hit was something Bill never wanted to experience again. But the similarity was glaring.
His trained mind flitted to a different subject. There was so much he was learning that would broaden the Ministry's understanding, allowing them to know their enemy more thoroughly than ever before. But the gathering of that wisdom was oddly far from Bill's priority. It confused him how he seemed to care for Beth even after exhibiting the characteri
stics of the things he'd sworn to kill. His consideration for her grew. He wanted to hate himself for it. He dreaded the thought of her coming back without having fed, for it would bring him dangerously close to having to do what he had once promised.
Suddenly, and finally, there was a distraction.
“Ow!”
The shouted whisper came from up the street. In his mind, Bill could see the bedside table to his right and the shoes he'd left on the floor. He saw the cane that was propped up against the wall and the single wooden chair that was by the window. He peeled the blankets back and swung his legs around, getting one foot straight into a shoe but having to fumble slightly for the second. Then he stood gingerly and limped silently with his hand out in front until he touched the blind. Pulling the side of it away from the window, he saw in the moonlight a figure with wild hair walking past in the street below, toward Gawber Street.
It could only be Beth.
He turned, saw his cane in the limited light, let go of the blind and groped for it. Bill crept through the house and was halfway across the yard when he looked toward the wall that separated the collection of yards from Gawber Street. On top of it he saw a crouching silhouette before it silently dropped down into the darkness. It unnerved him that her movements were becoming so vampire-like.
He shuffled down the steps and quietly opened the shelter door, no longer fearing the squeak after dowsing the hinges with oil. Lighting the lantern, he'd no sooner sat down than Beth came in. She was filthy. She stopped and looked at him blankly. It looked like she may have been crying, but if she had the tears had long been wiped away. Her hair was a mess and had trapped leaves and twigs, while her clean coat covered a summer dress that Bill barely recognized through the streaks of mud, moss and God knows what else. He noticed the smeared blood on the fingers of one hand and dared to feel a little optimistic.
“I hope I didn't alarm you,” he said quietly.
Beth shook her head and closed the door. “I saw you.” Her tone was solemn. “And heard you. And smelled you.” She sat down and put one dirty foot on the other knee, looking at the bare sole.
Bill's flitter of hope was quickly evaporating. Something was wrong. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I thought I'd have cuts all over my feet.”
Bill looked around. “Where are your shoes?”
“Back there, somewhere. I couldn't find them.”
“What happened?” he asked, confused by the presence of blood but the lack of enthusiasm.
“I caught a fox.”
Bill didn't know whether to be scared or proud.
“But I couldn't kill it,” she said.
Now he didn't know whether to be proud or concerned. “Where's the blood from?”
Beth glanced at the dried traces of blood that streaked her fingers. “The vole. The fox bit it.”
It sounded like she'd been mixed up in an improbable fight between a rodent and a dog, but it didn't matter. A bit of vole's blood wouldn't fill a fraction of her need. Bill took a deep breath. “Okay. I know this is going to be a hard question, but how much longer do you think you can last?”
“I don't know, Dad. I'm starting to get really tired again. And I've got cramps. I can't go to school.”
“You can't anyway, without shoes. We'll stick to the story of you being sick. I'll have to convince your mother it's not the same as last time, that it's not the anemia. If she comes out, will you be able to put on … a less tired face?”
“Can't you keep her out of here?”
“I'll try, but it's your mother, Elizabeth.”
Beth nodded. ”I'll try.”
“Tomorrow—I mean, later today—I'll try to get hold of Jeff again.”
“What if you don't?”
“I'll have to think of something.”
“Can't you … kill? Something?”
“You mean hunt a fox?” Bill clarified.
“Or something?”
“I'll have to, if I don't get anywhere tomorrow.” He shook his head. “It's just that with my leg as it is, I'm restricted and clumsy. And with this blackout? I don't have your eyes, Elizabeth.”
Beth hung her head.
“But I'll try,” assured her father, wondering if he'd even have the energy after an evening of Home Guard duty.
Then he thought about how it would either be that, or the alternative: carrying out the promise he'd made twelve years earlier.
* * *
The next morning Beth was still sleeping when Bill went out to the shelter. She'd fallen asleep on top of the blankets on one of the side bunks, still in the dress she'd hunted in. The nights were getting cooler, yet she seemed peaceful and comfortable in the cool air. He gently shook her shoulder and she peered out through half-closed eyes and groaned with drowsiness.
“The house is empty,” he said. “I managed to keep your mother out by telling her you needed what sleep you could get after being up all night being sick.” He was quite proud of that one. It explained his movements during the night, if anyone had heard them, while keeping Lynne away from Beth. He wasn't quite sure what excuse he'd be able to come up with if she'd walked in and seen Beth looking like she'd been dragged through a forest. “How are you?”
“Okay,” Beth grumbled. But Bill could see the darker skin under her eyes, looking like it was slowly soaking up the pigment from the rest of her face.
“Can I get you anything before I leave?” he asked.
Beth shook her head, groaned, turned over, and as far as Bill could tell went straight back to sleep. He shook her shoulder again. “Not so fast. You need a bath. I'm heating the copper now, so it'll be ready by the time I leave. Say quarter of an hour?” She let out another groan, but it had two syllables.
Bill assumed it was meant as an “okay”.
* * *
It was hardly a surprise that Globe Butchers was still without Jeff. There were still some other shops in the area he hadn't yet tried, the ones that required a lot of walking, but his hopes were almost non-existent. None of them knew him, and with the blood being mostly drained at a far-off abattoir, they would only hold quantities needed for delicacies—and that would be reserved for the customers who were known. He couldn't not try, though; he had to know he'd done all he could. On the way, he'd stop off at the post office to send yet another telegram to the faux address that would wind its way to the Ministry.
Before all that, though, he had to find his daughter's shoes.
By the time he returned home that afternoon, worn out and with a leg that felt like it was on fire, the only success he'd had was finding Beth's footwear. From the sitting room he looked through the open door into the kitchen and saw the bathtub was still there. Taking a few steps closer, he saw the water inside was filthy, but before attempting anything so exhausting as dragging the cumbersome basin out, he collapsed into an armchair to give himself ten minutes.
His duty that night was a shift with reduced hours that started shortly before Lynne would get home. There was no way his wife wouldn't go into the shelter to check on her daughter, but at least now she was clean. Before leaving, he went out to warn Beth of the theatrics she would have to try and perform, and then all he could do was hope and pray. If Lynne were to follow her nurse's instinct, he hated to think what he'd have to do to Dr. Kenneth Hawkins. As a rule, the Ministry didn't harm humans, but over the years it had become a necessity on the rare occasion when discrediting failed. What information had managed to slip into the public arena so far had been controlled, creating the ever-evolving myths and lore.
It was a relief, then, to get back shortly after midnight to find that Beth had managed to pull it off. It was all the more surprising considering that she seemed to look worse now than before he left, and the bright shine of her hazel eyes had gone.
“I said I'd try a bit of soup,” she croaked, rocking back and forth on a bunk, sitting on her hands. The half-full bowl still sat on the opposite bunk. Untouched.
After the full day he'd
had, Bill was exhausted and the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around a dark park, trying to slay whatever creature would be blind, deaf and dumb enough to come near him. He wondered briefly what he'd do with the creature if luck were on his side. He'd never bled an animal before. Bill wasn't a defeatist by any means, but he was a realist, and the chances of getting what Beth needed seemed to be extraordinarily slim.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Bad.”
It wasn't the word, but the way she said it, that bothered him. His resolve strengthened; he had to try. Just like the visits he'd made earlier that day with no hope of success, he had to know that he'd done all he could. He nodded his head in determination.
“I'll go and see what I can find.”
Genuinely hoping for the best, Bill went to put a reassuring hand on Beth's shoulder.
Her eyes flashed to his wrist.
All that Bill was aware of was a sudden aggressive movement. Beth's head snapped toward him with her mouth wide open in a furious snarl. It was only Bill's honed reflexes that saved him from having a chunk of his arm torn out. He snatched his wrist away just in time. Beth's teeth snapped thin air.
Instantly, her demeanor changed. She looked like a frightened, lost girl as she jumped backward and shuffled under the upper bunk with her head dipped low. Curling herself up in the dark corner and hugging her knees, she mumbled something over and over again. Bill couldn't make it out, but was in no doubt of her shame, and her fear.
His mind frantically leaped through hoops, and he shuddered to think what would've happened if Beth hadn't been sitting on her hands, keeping them somewhat restrained and restricting her full movement. No matter how much self-control she had, there was little doubt that if she'd drawn blood, it would've been the end of one or both of them.
There was no longer a gray area; there was no ambiguity.
His thirteen-year-old child had become dangerous.
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