by Platt, Sean
What are the Valkoer planning?
Do you have spies in The Hand?
What are the Valkoer planning with the portal?
But Caleb couldn’t confess to things he had no knowledge of.
So instead, he told her everything else. How he’d come from Earth. How until a few weeks ago, he didn’t know even he was a vampire, Valkoer, whatever. How he’d been married to a wonderful woman whom he accidentally murdered after he reverted into a vampire in his sleep. How he had two brothers, one named John who tried to help him, and another, Jacob, who’d come from her world to do God only knew what. How he tried to kill Jacob and wound up following him through the portal to this world.
He told her these things daily, and was met with a world of pain nonetheless.
She’d punched him, sliced him, burned him, put clamps on his head and squeezed so tight he thought his brain would pop out, and had performed some medieval version of waterboarding. The only thing Sister Raina hadn’t done, though she kept promising it was coming — severing his appendages.
Is today the day?
Her footsteps on the dirty stone floor came closer.
He flinched again, knowing she was near but not sure where.
Where would the first strike come from? His front? To his left or right? From behind?
Dread filled his broken body as Caleb turned his head, listening, attempting to determine which part of himself to brace for impact.
He felt a hand on the top of his head and shrieked.
But Sister wasn’t hitting him.
She was removing his hood.
Raina gave no greeting. Just stood there, in her clean white uniform, looking him up and down, mouth curled in contempt. He wondered how many uniforms she had — her last one was drenched in his blood.
She shook her head in disgust, looking down and seeing Caleb sitting in yesterday’s filth. Nobody had come to rinse him with a bucket as they’d done on other days, so he was caked in piss, shit, and blood, drawing flies.
His chamber: a twelve-by-twelve cell in the bowls of some underground stone fortress, with barely enough light from torches along the walls to see the hate in his tormentor’s eyes.
“So, are you going to tell me what I want to know today, Valkoer?”
“I’ve told you everything.” Caleb’s voice cracked.
“Not yet, but you will.” Sister turned on her heel and left, without even bothering to close the cell door.
This was a first.
Caleb felt hope for the first time since being strapped to the chair. An open door equaled opportunity, if he could think beyond his constraints and find a way to get through it.
Yeah, but if you do, you still have to get out of the dungeon and flee the fortress, past God knows how many guards.
He cleared his head of negative thoughts, and forced himself to focus only on possibility.
It was peculiar how just moments ago he was ready to ask Sister Raina to end it all, but an open door had lifted his spirits.
Got to think of a way out of these straps.
He stared at the leather straps binding his wrists to the chair, searching for some frailties to exploit. The straps were thick leather with sturdy metal buckles, with no evident structural weaknesses.
Come on, there must be something.
Seeing nothing, Caleb began yet another attempt at wriggling free, looking around, eyes scanning the dimly lit room and flickering shadows, searching for something to use — some dropped tool or rock he could pick up with his feet. Anything.
But the area was clear.
The implements of torture were all on a table to his right, a good five feet away. May as well have been a mile if he couldn’t break free from the straps.
He looked back down at his wrists, and a thought bubbled up from the depths of his subconscious.
Focus on the straps and the buckles. Untie them with your mind.
He wasn’t sure where this thought was born — out of desperation or some forgotten past — but its origin didn’t matter.
Caleb obeyed.
He focused on the strap holding down his right wrist — intently, as if doing so would compel it to unbuckle itself.
The strap slowly slid through the buckle, an inch or so before stopping.
Caleb stared, wide-eyed in disbelief.
Oh my God. I did it.
I moved it!
Part of him couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. Chalked it up to delusion. But he had to squelch that doubt. Had to focus again, try to push the strap’s end through the buckle.
He stared at the buckle, willing it to move.
But whatever had budged it the first time wasn’t cooperating now.
As if the taint of disbelief had stolen the magick.
“Come on. You can do this,” he whispered to himself.
The strap’s end began to slide again, pushing through the buckle.
Yes, yes, yes!
And then he heard footsteps — two pairs.
No, no, no! Hurry, hurry!
He stared at the leather strap, imagining it sliding through faster, but it was slowing down instead.
Footsteps were coming closer.
There was no way he could get the strap off before his tormentors returned.
He tried to shake the doubt from his mind, to tune the footsteps out and focus only on the strap.
Footsteps were closer still, now just inside his cell.
The strap began to move again, slightly faster.
Maybe!
Caleb was doused with a giant bucket of freezing water.
He gasped, spitting water as yet another bucket came.
And then another.
Ten men in white robes took turns dousing him with large buckets of freezing water. Caleb closed his eyes, unsure if this was further torment, or an attempt to clean him before Raina could continue her interrogation.
As bucket after bucket came crashing down, Caleb tried to focus on his right restraint, to unlock it while they were preoccupied.
He only wanted to unlock it, not escape with ten other people in his way. But if he could unlock it just enough, then maybe he could turn the tables on his inquisitor once he and Raina were alone.
Caleb had years of hand-to-hand training and could disarm nearly any assailant. He didn’t know whether he could truly get the better of her — she was obviously a heavy hitter for this cult, and seemed, judging from his limited time with her, to thrive on violence alone. He had to assume Raina was an able fighter, though he’d seen no evidence of what she could do to someone not tied to a chair.
As the men with the buckets left, Caleb caught his breath and looked up at Raina.
“Well, you smell a bit less like an animal now,” she said, then turned her back to him, walked over to the table, and slowly deliberated over which instrument to harm him with next.
“Hmm … should we use this?”
The cell door was still open.
She usually closed it during their sessions. Was this carelessness on her part or something intentional — a way of teasing freedom?
Nobody else was in the long, narrow, torch-lit hall outside his cell. It was graveyard-silent. Other than guards, Caleb hadn’t heard anyone else in the dungeon since his arrival. He might have been The Hand’s only “guest.”
Raina’s back was still to him, the doorway practically begging him to use it.
Now’s the time.
As Caleb focused on the restraint, another thought came to him. His vampirism, and associated abilities, were latent, hidden by some spell put on him long ago. But now that he was able to remove his straps, perhaps his other abilities were now active as well.
Maybe he wouldn’t need a weapon. He could simply lay his hands on Raina and drain her life. Same with any other bastard that got in his way.
But what then?
If he was a vampire again, wasn’t he also subject to their weaknesses? If he escaped this place into daylight — impossible t
o know down in the windowless dungeon what time it was — would he burn to ash the instant he found an exit?
The right restraint fell aside.
Caleb’s heart raced, watching Raina’s shoulders move up and down as she fidgeted with something on the table he couldn’t see.
With his right hand free, Caleb kept his eyes glued on Raina, and pulled the restraints from his left, praying she wouldn’t hear him, or turn around before he was free.
His hands unencumbered, he bent down and slowly loosened his left leg’s restraints. He didn’t bother keeping an eye on her now — his neck hurt too much to look up while leaning down.
Right leg free.
Then the left.
Caleb started to sit up as he heard Raina gasp.
He looked up to see her hand on a dark blade similar to the one he’d thrust into Jacob on Earth — the kind that kills vampires.
Time froze.
Caleb felt like the proverbial wolf in the hen house as the farmer appears with a shotgun.
He launched himself from the chair, toward Raina with nothing but his bare hands and a prayer that his touch would kill her before she could stab him.
Caleb saw all his surroundings at once — the cell’s four walls and open door; the empty hallway outside; the table with its many instruments, each one offering him a weapon to counter Raina’s; and, of course, Raina, moving toward him, eyes going from wide-open surprise at seeing him free to a furrowed brow to match her gritted teeth, knuckles bone white on the blade she intended to plunge inside him.
Caleb also saw that they were on a collision course in which they’d both end one another, if he didn’t change his trajectory.
Somehow, after seeing all these things in the splinter of a second, he rolled to his right at the final moment, avoiding collision.
Raina went sailing overhead, and time seemed to catch up with itself. She slammed into the wall.
Caleb pounced like an animal atop her.
Her eyes snapped open.
Too late, fucker!
He grabbed her face with both hands, prepared to feed.
He closed his eyes, unable to truly enjoy what he was about to do. She was an enemy, but this was the theft of a soul, something he’d done only once in his life, while sleeping, to his poor, sweet wife.
He wasn’t a monster like Jacob.
But survival left him no choice.
His fingers locked on Raina’s face, an explosion of energy annihilating every one of his senses at once.
But this wasn’t like before.
The energy wasn’t feeding him so much as assaulting his every molecule.
He tried to break the connection to her but couldn’t.
He was locked on.
Something was wrong.
He wasn’t feeding from her.
He opened his eyes to see that she wasn’t burning.
She was staring straight at him, shaking, eyes wide and afraid.
What the hell is happening?
“What are you doing?” she said, but her mouth didn’t move.
She was inside his mind.
And then he realized why he couldn’t kill her.
Raina was a vampire just like him.
Nine
Hope
There had been no time to think.
No time to plan.
The giant wolves had come, and it was fight or flight.
Whatever fight might have been inside her vanished when Hope saw the wolves tear apart two Omega agents and their mounts.
She had to trust the horse’s survival instincts to get her away.
It exploded into the woods in a thunderous gallop, and she did the only thing she could — hang on for dear life, hoping the horse wouldn’t see her as an impediment to escape.
In Hope’s youth — if it was, in fact, her memories and not the artificial ones created when John’s people gave her a new name and false recollections — she’d ridden horses enough to know that once spooked, they stopped caring whether or not a human was around. The mount could decide to throw her off, maybe stomp all over her in an attempt to flee danger. She had to keep doing what she was doing: hanging on tight until the horse was calm enough for her to regain control.
Hope couldn’t worry about John, Larry, or the others. Had to believe they could take care of themselves, or that their horses would take them to safety.
What if all the horses are running in different directions?
What if we all get lost?
It wasn’t as if they had radios to communicate with one another on this planet. There were no cell towers, or even electricity as far as she knew.
Hope tried to shake the horrible What-ifs from her mind. There was no time for worries or self-pity. She had to focus on what was happening, what she could directly control — which wasn’t much.
The horse was racing too fast and making too many quick turns for her to keep track of where she was, let alone how to get back. She was the passenger, forced to go wherever the horse wanted to take her.
She tried not to panic at the thought of getting separated from her group, or the possibility of her party being dead, but it was difficult, particularly with the thought of giant wolves owning the night.
Suddenly, her horse let out a high-pitched whine and pushed itself faster.
Hope turned around, wondering why the horse wasn’t calming down as it put distance between itself and the wolves.
Then she saw:
A giant gray wolf was right on their heels, hot steam puffing from its nostrils, razor-sharp teeth glistening long in the moonlight, and glowing red eyes staring right at her.
Oh God!
Panic ripped at her insides. Hope felt like she and the horse were running in quicksand while the wolf was charging unfettered on smooth grass, quickly closing the distance between them.
She turned from the horror as the horse changed direction, heading into thicker woodlands.
Branches scraped her. She had a horrible image of a stray branch unseating her, the horse racing away, leaving her as a snack for the wolf.
Which, of course, was followed by a flash of Omega agents and their horses being torn in half by other wolves. She’d never seen anything like it — claws reducing life to meat in sickening seconds.
She stood no chance against something like that.
Few things did.
She dropped down, hugging the horse, clutching tightly and hoping her mount wouldn’t be agitated enough to buck her off.
Come on, come on!
She dug her heels into the horse’s side, as if it weren’t already going as fast as possible.
She immediately regretted the decision.
There was an excellent chance that the horse, in its blind panic, had forgotten she was on its back. Now she’d reminded it.
Hope felt movement behind her and turned to see the wolf pouncing. Then everything went wrong.
The wolf landed on them in a heavy thud that knocked the wind from her body.
The horse, in a high-pitched scream, collapsed under the beast’s weight.
They all rolled forward in one screaming, bumpy, knotted mess of flesh, fur, claws, and blood.
Somehow, Hope slipped out of the mess as the wolf and horse rolled into a line of trees.
The wolf shoved its muzzle into the horse’s stomach and tore, sucking down on intestines, guts, and flesh in a sickening slurp.
Hope lay on the ground, her Omega outfit covered in blood, working to catch her breath, unable to look away from the savagery as her mind raced to conjure some means of escape.
She considered playing dead but figured that probably wouldn’t work with this monster. It seemed to be hyper-aware — it would smell her fear, or hear her beating heart. Maybe it wouldn’t even care if she were dead — a fresh kill had warm blood, and its meat was not yet rotting.
As if sensing her parade of decaying thoughts, the wolf turned toward her, its crimson eyes sizing her up.
This was the f
irst time she’d seen one of the wolves up close and still. Its details were even more unsettling when not cloaked in shadow or blurred by movement. It wasn’t just that it was as big as her horse while also being more powerful. Nor was it the clawed feet, gaping maw packed with too many needle-like teeth, or glowing red eyes that looked like fire burned inside them.
Something else sent chills to Hope’s core. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on, but if pressed she’d guess it as an intelligence greater than a mere animal’s.
She wasn’t sure why this terrified her so. Was it that this intellect made it a more capable killing machine, or that despite its acumen, the beast still chose such savagery?
The wolf stepped forward, its growl reaching into Hope’s stomach, then her limbs, rendering her motionless.
The wolf’s bloodied, razor-filled mouth broke into a sinister smile.
Ten
John
John’s boots kicked up dirt and clay, every muscle in his legs firing like pistons, arms slicing the air like blades, propelled by a heart pumping so fast it would surely tear with exertion.
Or terror of what he might find once he caught up to Hope.
John’s body raced faster than any human, his mind careening in a hundred directions, flooded with fear and regret.
I shouldn’t have brought them here.
I shouldn’t have come here myself.
Fuck this war. Let The Guardians and Jacob sort it all out.
I’m tired of sacrificing the people I love, sacrificing my life, for The Guardians’ and Harbingers’ war.
I should’ve run away with Hope, Larry, and Abigail; built some fortress somewhere; and let the pieces fall where they may.
As Hope’s scent grew stronger, he inhaled traces of her fear blemishing the environment like psychic stains, which, of course, only heightened his fears of being too late. Of finding Hope’s body ripped to pieces by the savage beast.
An ugly thought came to John, one he felt immediately ashamed of. Part of him preferred that Hope was killed by a person rather than some wild animal. At least he could find a home for his rage, avenge her death by destroying her killer.
But if a wolf killed her?
That’s nature, not man.