He awoke from the dream, physically experiencing the sensation of blood on his hands. He cried out and wiped nightmare sweat from his face and rolled over on his side. He looked at his cellphone to see he’d been asleep for several hours. He was about to power the phone down, when he heard it.
A whimper, barely audible at first.
Coming from the floor grate on the other side of the room.
Evan crawled over and listened. Faint sobs filtered up through the grate. He sat in silence and then he heard Lucy’s voice.
She was screaming in anger at someone or something in the basement.
Chapter Ten
Evan exited his room and tiptoed down the stairs, head cocked to one side. He was surprised to see that the door to the basement was open.
Evan took to the steps when Lucy screamed again. He vaulted down into the basement, which was rinsed with light from the ceiling’s unshaded bulb, and was immediately confronted with the following: a young girl in her early-twenties lying on her side, eyes closed, blood jumping from a spot in her right wrist where flesh had been scooped out; and aside this Lucy, who was struggling to tie a tourniquet just north of the wound.
Evan saw Gideon near the rear wall, eyes bugging out, smears on his mouth the color of pasta sauce. There was a telltale horseshoe wound on the girl’s wrist which Evan knew was left by Gideon’s mouth.
“Grab my pack, Evan,” Lucy said.
Evan’s eyes roamed around the space and settled on Lucy’s black backpack.
“Grab it!”
Evan hesitated. The girl whimpered, then started to convulse.
“Goddammit, Evan, grab the pack!”
Evan reeled over and grabbed the backpack.
“Mistake,” Gideon sputtered, wobbling toward Evan, his mouth flecked with spittle. “It was all a horrible, terrible error of judgment, Evan. You have to believe me!”
Evan stared at him, wondering how anyone over six-hundred years old and make so many goddamn mistakes. Gideon continued to plead with Evan, angling for sympathy as Lucy shouted:
“Shut up, Gideon!”
“But I was just telling him how-”
“SHUT THE HELL UP!”
Gideon shrunk, head pressed to his chest as Evan knelt in front of his mother.
The young girl was seizing, her eyes rolling, her arms thrumming as if she was being electrocuted.
“Remember what we did in Spartanburg, Evan?”
Evan was too shocked to reply, mesmerized by the blood as it streamed down the girl’s arm.
“Evan?!”
He looked up and nodded. He remembered. He opened the backpack to reveal the gear housed inside: the syringes, the centrifuge-like contraption, the vials of liquids. He pulled these out.
“Get a sample.”
Evan withdrew the syringe and inserted its tip into the girl’s arm. He pulled back the plunger on the syringe which sucked up a few beads of blood.
“Run the test.”
The girl’s body was bucking now. Evan could see Lucy’s muscles flexing as she held her down.
“Mom-”
“JUST DO IT!”
Evan held the syringe in his teeth, ripped the caps off two of the vials of liquid. He poured these into an opening with a rubber cap on the centrifuge-like device and followed this with the girl’s blood.
Then he secured the rubber cap and pushed a button on the device as it whirred to life.
“What happens if it’s blue, mom? What happens if she starts to turn?”
Lucy pointed to the pistol in the backpack and Evan remembered. Remembered being lectured on the contagion, the virus, whatever the hell it was that caused the victims of things like Gideon to turn. Nothing was known about the genomic structure of the bacteria, but Evan remembered reading that it overpowered the body’s natural antibody and T-cell responses.
Evan had been told that there was a brief window, mere seconds perhaps, where the microorganisms transmitted from Gideon to victim were incapable of maliciously interacting with the host. It was during this period where the infected could still be put down by traditional methods.
He looked at the gun again.
“If it’s blue, don’t you hesitate-”
“I won’t.”
“-right between the eyes is where you put it.”
“Didn’t you hear me?!”
“You can and you will.”
We’re going to hell, mother, Evan thought. Just as surely as the sun rises, the two of us will be in the Lake of Fire forever along with Dad for all that we’ve done.
Evan gripped the pistol which was dark and oily and evil-looking. Like the head on a serpent. There’d been other times like this, other women who were bitten, but never had he or Lucy had to pull a trigger.
The centrifuge-like device rattled to a stop. Evan was almost too terrified to look at it, but he did. The liquid inside was amber-colored. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucy motioned for Evan to toss her the pack which he did. She pulled out another syringe and bottle of liquid and shot the liquid into the girl’s veins. The girl’s tremors ceased and from what Evan could discern she began to breathe normally.
Lucy dressed her wounds with a salve and thick gauze and then she had the girl up and was dragging her toward the open stormdoors.
“Where are you going?!”
“I’m taking her back to where Gideon found her.”
Lucy disappeared up the steps as Evan’s gaze swung to Gideon. A feeling of instantaneous revulsion came over him. Gideon sat there, cowering, looking like the poster-boy for PTSD. There was blood and muck under his fingernails and tiny bits of what Evan surmised were flesh on his teeth. The vampire wiped his mouth and looked away in shame.
“I’m sorry, Evan. I am so fucking sorry…”
The same lines, the same apologies, Evan had heard it all before. He closed the stormdoors and plodded past Gideon and back up into the kitchen. He shut the door and threw the bolts across it and slid to the floor, too overwhelmed to cry.
Chapter Eleven
There would be no breakfast waiting for Evan the next morning. Just Lucy, seated at the kitchen table, looking bleary-eyed and world weary. There were what looked like little droplets of black ink all over her arms and shirt. Evan thought that was one of the things the movies always got wrong. Dried blood never remained bright red, it always turned black.
“I had a long talk with Gideon,” Lucy said softly.
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“We’ve got to go out again tonight.”
Evan grabbed the edge of the refrigerator and shook his head.
“He’s running low, Evan. That’s the reason he attacked that girl and-”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“He’s a liar and he drinks too much.”
“You know how it is. He’s like a car and when he gets low and wonky-”
“The check engine light comes on?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
”If he’s thirsty there’s another vet clinic fifteen minutes away that’s-”
“It needs to be the real deal this time.”
“You promised we wouldn’t.”
“I know what I said.”
Evan slammed his hands against the refrigerator.
“Never again, that’s what you said!”
“He’ll die if he doesn't get it.”
“And?”
“Evan, it’s a one-time thing.”
“How come your one-offs always become two and three-offs?”
Lucy locked on Evan with her best interrogative stare.
“I don’t need this crap from you right now, Evan. I’m under a lot of pressure as it is and-”
“Fine! Okay. This one time. But no backpack.”
“For God’s sake, Evan – you know I need my-”
“No, mom,” Evan said firmly. “I’ll go, but only if you don’t bring that thing.”
She dead-eyed him and nodded.
“Eighteen days,” Evan replied softly, “eighteen days and then I’ll be old enough and I’m going ghost.”
They waited until after eleven to head out that night with Lucy carrying the tools to the car while Evan stayed behind to set the traps and check the sensors.
Lucy drove, following Evan’s directions as they buzzed through Fells Point. Evan stared outside at the lights from the bars and clubs, wondering whether Harmony was inside. He saw the sign for the “Red Headed Stepchild” bar and smiled nervously. He planned to drop by the next night and see if she was there.
Eleven miles later, they were at the north end of the city. They shot past a large hospital, heading east for a few blocks, then south, then north again. Finally, they motored under the overpass for I-83 and into an industrial park lined with low-slung commercial buildings.
Lucy pointed at one with a sign pinned to the front that was partially visible. Evan mouthed the words “Biological Services” as Lucy pulled to a stop down the street.
The building, a long, two-storey brick structure, was a collection and processing center for WB, “Whole Blood.” Evan and Lucy had hit a few of them before. Evan always wondered why Gideon and the Gentry just didn’t process their own blood or buy it on the black market, but apparently much of the quasi-legal and illegal stores were tainted or already accounted for. Lucy said the Gentry was working on perfecting a manufactured plasma as a substitute, something synthesized from stem-cells extracted from the umbilical cords of babies, but Evan thought that was just more of the same. Talk.
They headed outside without the tools to make a dry run. They noticed a few workers straggling home for the night. Most of the businesses were deserted, however, or soon to be.
They roamed back and sat in the car and waited until every business was completely shuttered. Evan drummed his fingers across the dashboard.
“Must you do that?”
“Would you like to know why I do it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Sometimes I do it because I like the sound, but other times it’s so I won’t hear the voices. Do you ever hear them?”
Lucy turned on the radio. Evan drummed louder. Lucy reached over and grabbed his fingers.
“I’ve been thinking again, mother. If we’re zoo-keepers like you said, what does that make Gideon?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“I’ll tell you what it makes him. A big fat old toothless tiger stretched out in the sun, waiting for someone to toss him a lump of meat.”
Lucy snatched up her attache case and opened the door as Evan scanned the backseat. He saw that she’d kept her word, she’d left her backpack. No guns on this gig, he thought to himself. No violence. He grasped his insulated duffel bag and jumped outside to follow her.
They stayed beyond the spillage of light from the streetlamps, making for the back of the blood bank. They dropped behind a truck and scoped the rear of the bank which was larger than Evan had first thought.
There was a single CCTV camera hanging from a rear awning like a gargoyle. Evan recognized the make and model. A few years old, not particularly expensive, not particularly effective either. It was stationary and focused on one spot, so all they had to do was tiptoe past the camera’s eye which they did. The back door was metal and secured by a cheap lock that Lucy made quick work of.
The interior of the bank was sterile, lit only by a few pulse halogen bulbs that popped to life as mother and son slinked past. Evan studied everything as they inched down a hallway: walls shingled with photos and company memoranda and signage and regulatory notices from various three-letter government agencies.
He cocked his head and closed his eyes and listened. He searched for the white noise generated by the refrigeration units that kept the blood at a cool 33.8 to 42.8 degrees. He heard the hum of the refrigerators coming from somewhere above him and grabbed Lucy’s arm and pointed to a nearby, open stairwell.
They shuffled up the steps and down another hallway toward a door at the end protected by a keyless digital pad. If experience was any indication, the collection room lay on the other side.
Lucy opened her attaché case and plucked out some tools and quickly disassembled the touchpad. Then she pulled out her pry-bar moved aside several strands of colored wire and a circuit board. She severed the wires with the thin knife until she was faced with a simple lock which she attacked with her lock-picks.
As she was doing this, Evan swung back down the hall, peering into rooms and through windows. There were cubicles and spaces filled with supplies and long metal tables with thawing baths, platelet shakers, incubators, and containers of glycerol.
Evan inched back and his mouth froze as he listened to two sounds at the same time: Lucy exhaling in delight as she gained access to the collection room, and the slow, plodding steps made by somebody below.
The echo of the footfalls was faint, but unmistakable. Evan’s head whipped around and his mouth made a “fttt” sound that Lucy recognized. They shared a look and then Evan pointed down. Lucy nodded and signaled for him to follow her and he did.
They moved breathlessly through the now open door and into the collection room which was clogged with refrigeration and freezing units. They headed for a walk-in unit and Lucy yanked open the door to reveal bags of blood hanging like meat at a butcher’s shop.
As Lucy layered the bags in the duffel bag, Evan stole back to the door. He snuck a look through the door’s glass window.
“Anything?” Lucy asked.
“Clear… for now.”
She filled the bag up and whirled and they crouched behind the door, ready to exfiltrate the room.
“Ready?”
Evan held her look.
“What happens if-”
“It won’t.”
“-but what… if?”
“You should’ve let me bring my backpack,” she said while shouldering the door open.
All was silent, Lucy and Evan creeping down the hall, nearing the stairwell. Evan silently counted every step he took, listening for something, anything.
He turned the corner and meaty hands telescoped out at his throat. Lucy screamed as a white-whiskered man in a security uniform stumble-stepped forward.
“What the hell are you doing?!” the man bellowed.
The hands opened and then closed around Evan’s throat. Evan gasped, nearly swooning before he threw a punch that caught the man—the guard—in the stomach.
The guard tottered in wonderment. He was older than Evan first thought, probably in the middle of his years. His face was well-creased, but he possessed the broad-shouldered frame of a much younger man.
White Whiskers advanced and Evan threw two additional punches. The guard dodged Evan’s fists and lashed out at him. Evan darted and danced on the balls of his feet, just like Lucy had taught him. He popped White Whiskers in the shoulder and then the older man used his bulk to overwhelm Evan, bear-hugging and then shoving him into a nearby wall.
Evan’s head slammed back and his vision swam with stars. He dropped to the ground, turning to see Lucy unleash a wicked kick that caught White Whiskers in the hamstring. Down went the guard as Lucy grabbed Evan and pulled him up. The two dashed for the stairs and White Whiskers pursued.
Evan could hear footfalls behind as he and Lucy bombed down the hall. White Whiskers cursed and shouted as Evan descended the first step and then his momentum stopped. Evan’s arms swung and his feet pedaled, but he couldn’t move. He was being held in the guard’s vice-like grip.
“C’mere, you little bastard,” the guard growled, teeth bared.
Evan planted his feet on the edge of the stair tread and pushed back. He glimpsed the wide-eyed panic in White Whisker’s face. The older man lost his footing and somehow fell forward, smacking against the railing, his heavy frame carrying him over it. In a flash he was hanging by one hand from the other edge of the banister. Fourteen or fifteen feet above the cement
floor below. Lucy moved back to assist Evan in what seemed like slow-motion.
The guard grabbed for Lucy’s ankle and she instinctively kicked him in the nose. Evan screamed as White Whisker’s fingers, suddenly liberated from the handhold, fanned out. He managed to grab at Lucy a final time, dislodging several packets of blood and then he fell.
Evan and Lucy watch in stunned silence as the guard slammed into the hard surface below. The blood packets burst open and it was difficult to discern what injury or injuries the guard had sustained. The guard’s body bucked once and a little rill of blood issued from his mouth.
“Oh, God,” Evan said covering his mouth.
Lucy grabbed at Evan’s arm and he shoved her away. He raced down the stairs and moved toward the stricken guard who was lying in a pool of blood from the ruptured packets.
The man was on his side now, moving spastically like a fish on the deck of a boat. Evan approached, wanting to reach out and help the guard who coughed and moaned.
Lucy yelled at Evan, imploring him to run, but he could barely hear her. He watched the guard’s arm shoot out, fingers pawing for something… a small device that resembled a cellphone.
The guard’s glassy eyes ratcheted toward Evan. They shared a look and then the guard plucked up the device in a quivering hand and pressed a button.
Sirens wailed in every direction.
Evan stumbled back as Lucy grabbed at him. Evan continued to stare at the guard whose body was twitching now, as if he was being jolted by a thousand volts of electricity.
“What about-”
“Leave him! There’s nothing we can do!” she said.
They burst through the back door and sprinted down the street. Evan expected spotlights to snap on or dogs to bark at any second, but nothing happened. They hit the Cressida and clambered inside, Lucy behind the wheel this time.
Lucy did a few circuits around the city, killing time, checking for tails and not a single word was exchanged between them.
Later, they parked in the back of the rowhouse and sat in silence for nearly ten minutes until Evan looked over at his mother.
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t alive,” he said.
Familiars Page 6