by Paul Cave
“I see you’ve met Rebecca,” Patterson said, missing the girl’s obvious fear. “Hey – it’s okay, you’re safe now, there is nothing to be scared of here.”
The girl managed to prize herself free. She scampered away from the group and disappeared through the open doorway. The group stood in silence for a moment, listening as her hollow footsteps faded away.
“She’s new here,” Patterson explained. “And I think she had it bad before we rescued her. We found her with her mother, dead, tied to a tree. Sad.”
“Such a pretty little thing,” the woman said, her face twisted into a false look of affection.
“She is indeed,” Patterson agreed. He gave her a quick smile, but his eyes betrayed an internal unease.
Sarah sensed his anxiety, and was surprised to find herself disappointed by such a weakness. She had expected the ruler of these humans to at be strong-willed. Instead, the guy that stood before her was simply a broken middle-aged fool. And, she’d have ended his misery right there and then had it not been for the young man at his side. For, although the machinegun was of little concern, something intense and dangerous lurked just beneath the surface of his eyes.
He was handsome without doubt; even the angry gash across his cheek could not diminish his beauty. If anything, the single flaw only helped to accentuate the rest of his striking features. There was something both alluring and formidable about this man. They made eye contact and the young man frowned slightly, not with puzzlement, but with something more like recognition.
The doctor broke the silence. “So you feel much better?”
She turned her attention away from the handsome gun-bearer. “A lot better, thanks.”
“You were lucky we found you when we did,” the doctor said. “You were close to suffering from chronic hypothermia. Had we not found you, you’d have probably died within days, maybe hours. That’s not to mention the chance of recapture.”
“Recapture?” Patterson began. “You managed to escape from one of …” – he paused, anxiety increasing - “… these breeding camps?”
“Yes,” Sarah replied.
“How?”
“It was easy, really. I had help.”
“Help?” Patterson asked. “From whom?”
“Your daughter …”
Chapter Fifteen
The vampire shifted. His facial muscles began to twitch, signalling a resurgence of awareness. The skin around the right side of his face began to tremble, as if a platoon of angry ticks were marching beneath his pallid flesh. As the army of ticks reached his brain – returning him to duty - he opened his eyes and then bolted off the chair. The shotgun fell out of his arms and clattered noisily at his feet. He shook his head, blinked, and appeared to find his senses. After a colossal yawn, his attention turned to his two captives. He grinned. His canines reflected two weak slivers of yellow lamplight. He bent down to retrieve the weapon. He stood then and shuffled over to the prison cell. His comical grin became sly. Unlike before, however, this smirk contained a new element of danger.
“It’s time,” he said, his face inches from the bars. The shotgun levelled at the mechanic’s chest.
“What?” Squirrel asked in a nervous croak.
“You, get up,” the vampire ordered.
“No … wait,” Squirrel said.
“Don’t hurt him,” Alice pleaded, clutching at one of Squirrel’s arms.
“Up! Up!” the vampire insisted, lifting the barrel higher with each command.
As if hypnotized by the dark, mesmerising barrel, the mechanic stood and took a few faltering step towards the iron door.
Alice pulled on his arm. “Squirrel – no. Please don’t go.”
The mechanic stopped. He turned towards his friend. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” He breathed in deeply, gathered his strength, and then finished the short journey to the front of the cell. His injured leg felt stiff but otherwise fine. No pain, just an intense and irritating itch. Drawing nearer to his captor, he could smell the rank odour of decay. The vampire smiled, and Squirrel got a face full of rancid breath.
“What are you gonna do?” Alice asked.
“Too close!” the vampire admonished. “Back! Back!”
“Okay,” Alice said. She returned to the rear of the cell.
“Dangerous,” the vampire growled, with an added scowl.
“Let’s get this over with,” Squirrel said, surprised by his bravery.
The vampire unhooked the set of keys from his waistband. His hand shook with excitement, and he barely managed to feed the key into the lock. The mechanism popped open with a screech of rusty parts. He stepped back, allowing the door swing open.
“Out.”
Squirrel followed the vampire’s directions and stepped out. Then, showing surprising speed, the vampire sprang forwards. In a blur of flesh and iron he relocked the cell, trapping Alice within. “Good – safe,” he said, pleased. He turned to Squirrel and gestured towards one of the front windows.
Squirrel frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Go. Go,” ordered the vampire.
Squirrel gave the demented ghoul a shake of his head. He followed its instructions and moved over to one of the windows. The vampire took position directly behind him.
“Hand outside, now,” the vampire instructed.
“What?”
“Hand, hand.”
“I don’t understand,” Squirrel repeated.
The barrel of the shotgun jammed itself into the mechanic’s side. The vampire had presented his explanation. “Hand through window,” he ordered.
For a second Squirrel became confused, then suddenly, he understood. “You want me to put my hand through the window, outside?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“No fucking way!”
“Yes. Yes,” the vampire repeated.
Squirrel felt the shotgun rub painfully against one of his ribs. “Alright, whatever you say,” he said. Slowly, and with caution, he allowed his hand to pass between the bars. He felt the cold air outside snap at his exposed fingers. He almost jerked his hand back, but the weapon at his side persuaded him not to.
“Now wait,” the vampire said.
Squirrel turned his attention outside. He peered into the darkness and watched for any movements. After a few moments of calm, he felt the pressure from the gun lessen. Through his peripheral vision he saw the vampire take position at the next window. He turned to his demented captor, but an angry thrust of the shotgun returned his attention to the darkness beyond.
“Careful. Watch.”
For a few minutes nothing happened. Then a deeper black cut through the darkness. It headed towards the front of the jailhouse. Another silhouette appeared to the right of the first, and within seconds the street was a churning mass of loping shapes.
Squirrel faltered slightly and he started to pull his arm back.
“Girl will die,” the vampire whispered venomously.
His fingers halted, half inside the window, half out.
“No hand,” the vampire cautioned, “no girl.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Squirrel spat, thrusting his hand back through the bars.
A muscular shape broke away from the main pack. Powerful shoulder muscles bunched together as the wolf began to climb the steps. It reached the last step. There, its nostrils flared as the beast sniffed at the air. It released a guttural growl. The wind carried with it something of interest: flesh and blood.
Squirrel watched on in terror as the beast’s jaws opened to reveal a nightmare collection of sharp teeth. The wolf moved a couple of feet closer, and then froze.
The wolf maintained its position, its head tilted up slightly. A cacophony of angry howls began from behind, which eventually forced the animal to continue. The beast’s head dropped low. It continued towards the jailhouse with cautious intent.
Squirrel saw two blood-red eyes stare towards him. His heart pounded with ferocity. He swallowed, and the saliva stuck at the back of his throat.<
br />
The beast moved ever closer. It came within about six feet of the meaty reward. The dizzying aroma of hot flesh drove it on, now possessed by hunger. Then the beast lunged forwards aggressively. Its jaws opened impossibly wide.
Squirrel screamed and forced his eyes shut. He felt the hot, rancid breath burn at his skin. He had a split second to visualise fangs tearing his hand away. But the bite never came. He heard a deafening boom and, as his eyes sprang open, he saw a cloud of blood explode before him. The beast twitched and thrashed below the window. A huge hole had appeared in its flank to reveal ripped tissue, bones and steaming organs. He had a second to remain stunned before another dark shape appeared from the left, its jaws wide.
“Inside! Inside!” the vampire warned.
“What ...?” Squirrel gawped.
“Hand. Inside.”
Squirrel pulled his arm back through the window. Outside, directly where his hand had just been, jaws came together with an audible snap!
Stepping over to Squirrel’s window, the vampire jammed the shotgun outwards and pulled on the trigger. A painful howl sounded from beyond. He turned to Squirrel then and said, “All clear.”
Next, and to the mechanic’s total amazement, he handed the shotgun over.
Squirrel stared at the weapon dumfounded. “What …?”
“All clear,” the vampire repeated.
Squirrel regained his senses. He spun the weapon around in his hands and pointed it directly at the fiend’s chest. “Hands up!” he ordered.
The vampire looked at the mechanic as if he was the stupidest person he had ever met. “ALL CLEAR,” he repeated, again, as clearly as his engorged lips would allow him. A blank face stared back at him. He shook his head in slight amusement. “Wolf outside,” he said. “Yum, yum.”
“What? You’re kidding, right?” Squirrel asked.
The vampire shook his head vigorously. “Food ...”
Finally understanding what the crazy bag-of-bones was getting at, Squirrel asked, “You want me to go and get the dead wolf. To eat?”
“Yes, yes.”
“No, no,” Squirrel mocked, and jammed the weapon under the vampire’s large nose. He let his finger tighten around the trigger. Two defiant orbs stared back at him. “Let her out,” Squirrel said, his eyes flicking over to Alice.
The mechanic heard the heavy jangle of iron. “Give me the keys,” he ordered. He jabbed harder with the shotgun. “Keys.”
The vampire raised the bunch of keys upward. But he didn’t hand them over. He flicked his wrist and, to Squirrel’s horror, they sailed passed his eyes, out through the window and into the darkness beyond.
“What have you done?” Squirrel demanded.
“Bye-bye.”
“Are you insane? Wait - don’t answer that.” Squirrel returned to the window. About twenty feet away, teetering on the edge of the top step, were the bunch of keys. “Shit!” he snapped.
“No keys,” the vampire said, “no escape.”
The mechanic spun on his heels, ready to send the vampire on to the next place. He had a barrel of hot lead to help him on his way. However, the vampire looked on with nothing but bemusement. Deciding he would deal with the vampire once he had Alice out, Squirrel stepped over to the main entrance. He took a breath, pulled open the door and then stepped outside. The door slammed shut behind him. A metallic scrape signalled a deadbolt slide home.
“Be careful,” Alice called to him.
Followed by, “No wolf - no back inside!”
He took a cautious step away from the jailhouse. The town had gone quiet. He could see the vague outlines of empty buildings, and the streets were deserted apart from a few rusty husks. These forgotten vehicles had been abandoned almost a million years ago - or so it seemed.
Immediately to Squirrel’s left lay the slain beast. Even though the wind blew in the opposite direction, the mechanic could still smell its rank odour, and something even more repulsive: the stench of blood and guts.
He understood it would be only be a matter of minutes before the smell became too intoxicating for the hidden horde. Quickly, he crossed the open ground and reached the top of the steps. He dropped to one knee, his eyes fixed ahead. He reached out and took the bunch of keys. Holding them to his chest, he climbed quickly to his feet. He heard a deep rumble come from the right. “Oh … Shit,” he breathed.
Shapes bounded past each other, as more and more wolves took position around the mechanic. Squirrel jammed the keys into his pocket. He aimed the shotgun towards the bloodthirsty pack. One was about to spring. He pulled the trigger and sent it flying backwards, scattering its brethren. More movement came from behind. He chambered another shell, spun around, and sent another beast into perpetual darkness. Momentarily scared by the gunshot, the fearsome creatures disappeared. They dissolved into the night like shadows painted onto a dark canvas.
Now, he turned his attention to the next task at hand - the fallen wolf. He spun full circle and found two bloodied and torn carcasses. He stood spoilt for choice for a second. Realising it would be easier to manoeuvre the wolf underneath the window; he crossed the short distance and dropped to his knees. He slung the weapon over his shoulder, forced his hands under the beast’s body, and tried to lift it. The wolf was as heavy as a diesel engine, and only slightly more pliable. At first he struggled to get his hands between the bloodied torso and the hard ground underneath. With his back arched he attempted to heave the beast up.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he snapped. The thing refused to budge. He sucked in a huge lungful of air, then readied himself and tried again. This time the wolf was downright stubborn. It didn’t move an inch!
“Shit! Fuckin’ piece of shit!” he cursed.
His back ached with pain and effort. He collapsed onto the beast and lay there, breathless, like a spent lover. He remained trapped by the beast’s affection until he’d caught his breath, and then readied himself for a third time. This time, he concentrated his efforts on lifting just one end of the wolf. He heaved with all his might and managed to raise the rear half of the body. One knee quickly positioned itself underneath to stop the body from flopping back to the ground. With difficulty, he placed the beast’s back paws so they draped loosely over his shoulder, then he heaved the balance of its weight up, and then, with a tremendous effort, he pushed himself up. Using the wall as leverage he climbed to his feet. He turned away from the wall with the wolf balanced precariously.
Suddenly, he found himself faced with a silent audience.
Chapter Sixteen
The party of four crossed an invisible border, leaving the deserted highway behind them. They travelled in silence, working their way deeper into the town. As they marched through the dark streets, they scanned the empty shells on either side, looking for anything that might direct them to their lost friends. With no sign of either Squirrel or Alice, the party eventually found themselves at a crossroads.
“Which way?” Captain Banantyne asked, bringing the group to a halt.
Jacob Cain stopped. He looked from one street to the next. “This way,” he said, then moved away from the junction and headed further into town.
They reached the end of an empty street, ready to turn into the next. Taking the lead, Jacob led them past soulless structures, burnt out hulks of twisted metal, and the dried-out cadavers of things that had once dreamed.
Elliot said, “The town’s too quiet. Something’s wrong here.”
“You sense it too?” the old tracker asked.
“Yeah,” Elliot replied. “I’d expect it to be quiet, but not lifeless. I haven’t seen a single living thing, not even a goddamn rat.”
“This town’s been picked clean.”
“By what?”
Jacob brought them to an abrupt halt. He didn’t speak or signal, simply stopping in his tracks. Elliot instantly recognised the act as a warning. He stopped in mid-stride and dropped to one knee. The rifle slipped from his shoulder. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper.
Jacob dropped at his side and then gestured towards two empty buildings. “Over there,” he said.
Elliot saw only a slice of darkness, caught between the two buildings. “I don’t see a thing.”
“Wait,” Jacob said. The shadows shifted slightly. “There, did you see it?”
Elliot’s trained eye spotted movement from within the darkness. He waited a moment and was rewarded with another brief movement. Captain Banantyne and Lieutenant Kate Hutson drew up from the rear.
“What’s going on here?” Captain Banantyne asked, his voice echoing noisily.
“Quiet!” the older tracker warned in a hiss.
“Why have we stopped?” Banantyne asked.
Ignoring Banantyne’s question, Jacob turned to Elliot. “Wait here. I’m gonna check it out.”
“Check what out?” the captain queried.
Jacob moved away from the small group and headed towards the darkness. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he passed an abandoned vehicle. He had a second to think about how well the vehicle had been maintained before the intimidating emptiness drew his attention. He stepped onto the lawn. The turf under his feet was hard and brittle. He crossed this forgotten sward, looking about him, examining the broken windows. He focused on the open doorway.
Even in the poor light, he could see the remnants of some family’s forgotten belongings. An assortment of damaged items lay scattered about in the hallway. An old chair with only three legs was propped up against a wall. Broken ornaments lay scattered on the floor, providing a sharp carpet of porcelain. But it was one item in particular that stopped him in his tracks. Hanging from the wall, directly at the entrance, was a photograph in a crooked picture-frame. Although he could not make out the photo’s finer details, he could just about see that it was of three people, all smiling into camera. The person in the centre had the suggestion of long hair, and Jacob guessed that she was the mother of the household. Flanking her on either side were two smaller faces, each possessing a head of short hair: two young boys; twins maybe.