by Kat Turner
She jerked to no avail, friction burning against her skin as she battled her restraints. She was tied to a wooden chair. Her vision returned in apprehensive bursts and flutters. The room was dim, stuffy. It stank of a barnyard. She faced a double set of wooden doors. The only light came from a fluorescent bug zapper, blue tube glowing like radioactive Listerine in a black cage dangling from the ceiling.
No light but for that iridescent chemical tube, the lone sound its electronic hum, but Eve’s guts twisted as she recognized her surroundings.
The Pollyanna shed.
“No.” She struggled in vain against her bindings. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed several loops of white plastic handcuffs securing her wrists and ankles in stacked rows of bracelets and anklets. A horrid cord of synthetic rope attached her arms to her legs.
Stay calm. Think. Heart thumping in her ears, Eve glanced around, cringing when a tweaked muscle in her neck smarted. Empty and undamaged tanks filled their shelves. Fuck. Was that good or bad? No time to ponder. There had to be tools in this shed, scissors or a knife or something that would cut.
She saw it beside a vacated tank—a rusty green box on a low shelf that she could reach. The sight made her surge as if the junky thing contained a ticket to heaven. Hope propelling her, she scooted her chair across the hard-pack dirt with a series of scrapes. Eve backed up, coming flush with the shelf.
Her fingers made contact with the hard metal latch, and she pulled it. It popped open. “Yes.”
Her pulse a drum, she flipped the lid and felt the box’s contents. Metal tools rattled and clanked. Tremors wracked her hands, but she groped at pointy hard things until a sharp edge poked the fleshy mound below her thumb. Quickly, she felt the rest of it, stuffing a victory screech as she identified the item in hand.
Scissors.
“Thank you, thank you.”
Eve was hard at work sawing at her plastic binds when she heard a familiar rattle. The calling card of the mutants who’d once lived in this shed, much louder than before, sounded a buzzing rattle. She shook her head in clawing denial, slicing blades back and forth. Some of the tension in her arms eased as the restraints gave way under her assault.
The distinct hiss, a demonic fart from the bowels of hell, tore through the air beyond the shed. No, no no.
Chains clickety-clanked. A click signaled a padlock opening. Eve froze, scissors a lottery ticket for salvation in her palms, and watched her chest rise and fall. The ties securing her hands snapped and fell slack, taking the connecting rope with them. The cord flopped to the ground like a slippery piece of spinal column falling from the embalming table.
“Come on now, big boy, come on.” Susan spoke with a mixture of aggravation and fear. Strained grunts punctuated her coaxed encouragement.
“Aieeee!” The yowl, inhuman and enraged, pierced Eve to the bone marrow. Her insides quaked as the abject sound branded its mark on her. Two solid thumps struck the door, followed by crunches as wood splintered. “Aieeee!”
“Come on, now.” After Susan barked her order, the doors flung wide.
Anya blew into Cara’s hospital room with a massive cup of coffee clenched in one hand, her wrinkled tee shirt stained by brown and red spills, and her eyes bloodshot. She’d wadded her long, black hair in a halfhearted knot atop her head, several loose strands glued to her face by sweat.
Jonnie’s heart broke for his saintly sister. She’d suffered enough, endured enough. Finally, he could do something to alleviate her burden and save the child they both loved, but only if she bought what he was selling. He put both hands on his sister’s shoulders and gazed deeply into her eyes, eschewing glamor magic in favor of old-fashioned honesty. “I need you to remain calm and listen. What I’m about to propose is going to sound completely psychotic, but I swear to you, I’m telling the truth. If you listen to me very carefully and agree to this, we can save Cara’s life. She won’t be the same, but she won’t die. You with me so far?”
“Yes,” Anya said in a small, hopeful voice. “But I don’t follow. Do you mean that you know about a method to prolong her life, some kind of fancy elite celebrity heath treatment? If so, how much more time will this give her?”
Before he could answer, a sharp headache stabbed his temple. He swore that he heard voices in his head speaking frantically. One thing at a time, though, and this moment was annexed for Anya. He swallowed to gather his bearings and brushed a damp piece of hair away from one of Anya’s big brown eyes. “She won’t ever die, Anya. If we go this route, she’ll live forever.”
Anya stammered, her face twisting into a rictus of confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Is this some weird crackpot transhumanism thing about uploading her consciousness into a computer? Because I refuse to turn my daughter into a science experiment.”
“No. Lower tech. And the experimental trials have already been completed. I was one of the experiments.”
She grimaced as if losing faith, her chin trembling. “What sort of experiment?”
With that, Jonnie launched into the saga. Vampivax. Connors. The treatments, what he and Eve had learned about Scarab. The ayahuasca solution, and how he’d share as much as possible with Cara initially before he learned to make his own to sustain both of them.
Initially, Anya gaped. Shook her head while biting a nail and looking at the floor. “You’re right. That’s the most outlandish, improbable, far-out story that I have ever heard in my entire life.” But as she finished her thought, her tone lifted. He caught no judgment, no dismissal, no rejection. Curiosity buoyed her vowels. Finally, after mouthing some unspoken words and chewing on her finger some more, she steeled her spine and met his eyes again. “Fuck it,” she spat out with an undercurrent of triumph. “Do it. Save my little girl. Save my baby.”
Jonnie pressed his hands together as relief and joy crashed through him. Anya was so damn open-minded, an adventurous spirit and a fierce mama bear. He should have known that she’d be amenable to rescuing Cara from the grips of death by any means necessary. “What about her dad?” Mark listened to his wife on almost everything, deference that went double for Cara’s health care. But the respectful thing to do was ask.
“It’ll be fine,” Anya said confidently. “I’ll tell him myself, and he’ll cope.”
“I’m here for all of you any time, if anyone has any questions or needs support. Seriously, anything.”
Garbled nonsense words rang out in his head, faint and distant. In his head, or his imagination? Or was he fried from lack of blood and poor sleep? Suddenly dizzy, he braced one of his hands on the wall until the odd spell passed.
“Hurry up before I change my mind and have you committed to a psych ward.”
Jonnie moved deftly to remove Cara’s IV line and empty the saline drip bag in a basin. Next, he performed a hasty bloodletting with a pilfered scalpel and hovered over the sink while transferring his blood to her bag via syringe and a cut to the plastic. Luckily, he’d prepared in advance by swiping the proper tools before Anya arrived, and he expressed silent gratitude that his nimble fingers and dexterous hands delivered in the moment of truth.
While his sister looked on from the corner of the dark room lit only with the moving line of Cara’s heart monitor, Jonnie cleaned up all traces of spilt blood. As he replaced the drip bag, he sighed in relief. Mission accomplished. Nothing to do but wait. Jonnie snagged a handful of chocolate candies from a goody basket at Cara’s bed table, shoved them into his mouth, and flopped into a chair with a ripped vinyl cushion. Sugar would sustain him for another day or so, until he could get back to New Orleans and reunite with his ayahuasca.
Anya fell to her knees beside him and clung to his throbbing arm, praying.
Waves of misery washed over him as he faced a return to reality, a return to life without Eve. Too spent to wallow, he zoned out in his uncomfortable seat.
“Uncle Jon?” Cara’s voice snapped him from a stupor.
“I’m here, Care Bear. Are you alright?”
“I’m not sick anymore.” Her bald head shone in the bit of moonlight coming through the barred, fifth-story window.
He bolted to stand and rushed to her, grabbing her hands in his. The changes struck him immediately. No more sallowness ruined her peachy complexion. The sunken look had lifted. But he couldn’t get his hopes up yet, couldn’t succumb to wishful thinking. “How do you feel? Tell me exactly how you are feeling.”
His hope intensified the longer he looked into her sweet brown eyes. They were shiny and clear, without a trace of that watery, vacant haze. Her stare was free of the lurk of death, as he’d come to think of that sickening cast.
“My stomach doesn’t hurt. I feel strong, like I could play basketball again. I’m hungry. Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich and birthday cake and milk and cereal with marshmallows in it?”
“Oh baby, oh baby.” Sobbing, Anya rushed to her her only child’s bedside and swept the girl into her arms. “We did it, we did it.”
Tears streamed down Jonnie’s face. His heart exploded. People liked to say fuck cancer. Jonnie was a humble man and hated to brag, but he congratulated his vampire self for telling cancer to fuck off and making it listen. He kissed Cara’s smooth forehead. She smelled better too, fresh. No more pungent funk of illness. “You can have whatever you want.”
Jonnie pushed the button for the night nurse. A matronly woman with a kind, freckled face rushed in, rubber shoes squeaky against linoleum. While the nice lady looked on in awe and Anya cradled her daughter, Cara babbled with pure joy about how good she felt.
“Can I have some food?”
Jonnie chimed in, “She’d like a grilled cheese sandwich and milk—”
“No.” Cara’s smile split her face, showing a mouthful of teeth. “I changed my mind. I want a steak. Rare. Super bloody. Mooing.”
The nurse laughed. “She’s craving protein.”
Jonnie locked eyes with his niece as a sobering realization gelled. The mutation was underway, and fast.
“And blood pudding.” She clapped. “Like we had in England that one time.”
Nurse Lady had it wrong. Cara wasn’t craving protein. She was hungry for blood already.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Chortling, the night nurse whisked away.
“I feel like a princess with magical powers. I can fly. I can do anything.” Cara jumped to stand on her bed, the tubes in her arms stretching from her emaciated body like the bones of bat wings.
Cara’s skin caught the night’s rays in a certain illustrious way. Or maybe that was just her, the new her. A faint fluorescence made her sparkle. A chill raced up Jonnie’s back as the presence of this newly minted night angel struck him with her macabre poetry. With her bald head, the name Nosferatu came to mind.
Before he could reply to Cara, the nurse returned with a plastic tray of food, two doctors, and Anya’s husband Mark in tow.
“Baby girl, what’s happening?” In a voice shot through with shock and tears, Mark rushed to his daughter.
“She’s cured,” Anya wailed, rocking Cara. “She’s cured.”
“I’m cured.”
A doctor with a red French braid put her hand on Anya’s shoulder as she took in the scene with a somber expression. “Sometimes cancer patients experience a rush of euphoria in the final—”
“Fuck cancer, right Uncle Jon?” Gemstones of amber eyes cut to Jonnie, alive with recognition and a sly wink of humor. She’d heard those words in his head, read his mind. It was official. Cara was a bona fide vampire, a bloodsucking fiend.
Everyone laughed at the rough cuss in the pretty teen’s voice.
Welcome to the club. I’ll explain how it all works soon, but for now don’t bite anyone without their consent, you hear?
Cara saluted him with two fingers.
“I can call in a few favors at the Mayo Clinic and order some rushed tests. I’ve never witnessed a medical miracle firsthand, but I won’t rule it out yet.” The other physician, a man with a thick accent who reminded Jonnie of his cousin Pranav, dashed out of the room. With a nod and a point, the doctor communicated a message to the nurse.
The nurse returned his nod and got to work drawing Cara’s blood. The girl stared, rapt, as red fluid shot through a clear tube and filled a vial. Nurse collected her sample and ran after the doctor.
A flurry of activity ensued. Tests results confirmed the good news: Cara was cancer free. Screams, cheers, and sobs filled the hospital room as the patient devoured everything the nurse brought.
Still on her knees at Cara’s bedside, Anya folded her hands in prayer and bent her head skyward. “Thank you thank you for saving my baby. I believe in you. I believe in miracles. I’m sorry I doubted, and I’ll never doubt again.”
Well, the god or gods upstairs didn’t deserve all of the credit, but Jonnie wasn’t about to spoil the celebration or make this moment about him. He listened politely as the thoughtful Indian doctor talked at him using a bunch of medical jargon, an attempt at scientific reasoning to make sense of the miraculous healing.
Someone brought in a music player, and an impromptu dance party sprang to life. A cake full of candles came in next, teardrops of yellow flames alight. A new dizzy spell struck Jonnie, worse than before, so intense that he had to sit. The speech in his mind intensified and sped up, static fading as crisp words emerged. Words spoken in a feminine voice.
“Jonnie…I…don’t...” Eve’s voice. Miserable with despair and distress, she spoke in his head.
“Where are you? What’s happening?” He used telepathy.
“Susan…let me…untie.” More slurred gobbledygook. “No!”
Fuck. If Susan was involved, Eve was in trouble. And likely in Louisville. He jumped to his feet and bolted to Anya. “I have to go. It’s an emergency. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be in touch soon.”
“What’s wrong? Something with the band?”
“I’ll explain soon.” He had no idea if that were true, but he needed to go. Because Eve was in danger, and despite what had gone down between them, he would protect her. She’d reached out to him, and he wasn’t about to let her down.
Muffled screams banged in his head as he grabbed another handful of candies and shoved them in his mouth. Sprinting down the hallway as he fled the hospital, Jonnie used his mind to tell Eve to hold on a little longer. Because he loved her, he was coming for her, and he’d never let her slip away ever again.
Twenty-Three
It was all Eve could do to maintain control of her bladder and colon. The monster, secured with plastic-coated chain leashes by a straining Susan, her husband Dale, and Rustin, rivaled a wolf in size.
Her skin was ice. Horror gripped her stomach in painful contractions. Eve sized up the nightmare fuel before her and categorized the various assets its lineage bestowed. The snake DNA gave it muscle, the ability to jerk its captors to and fro as it struggled against its confines, lashing a rattle-tipped tail in the air. From the roach and tick it got hardiness and a tough exoskeleton she bet the sharpest cleaver couldn’t breach. Thanks to the piranha element of its ancestry, the Pollyanna gnashed tightly packed swords of teeth built to rip flesh from body.
The thing’s one weakness had to be its short legs. She could tell from its oafish, lurching movements that its low center of gravity and the poor support its stems offered impeded movement. No way could the Pollyanna move with anything more than a tipsy waddle, let alone give chase or climb trees.
It unleashed a barrage of its abject noises, belt of a forked tongue stabbing from a cavern of dagger teeth. A part of her hurt for this aberration. It was just an animal after all, and one that was suffering and ought to be put out of its misery.
“What have you done, Susan?” The dregs of Eve’s hope drained into the ground. When she’d detected Jonnie’s presence moving through the wavelength of her consciousness, she’d warned him to stay far away. She hadn’t been able to make out his garbled reply, but she begged him to listen. Meaning she was all alo
ne with two psychos and a killer mutant.
“Call up your fucking vampire.” Huffing and groaning, Susan pulled back at the leash until it was taut. The Pollyanna thrashed and wailed, rearing an inch off the ground before crashing back down.
Eve cringed as its wee stumps absorbed the impact of its ponderous bulk.
“Or else what, you feed me to Fido? But if I die you’ll never get to Jonnie, now will you?”
“Where’s Lacey?” Dale wheezed his words out, jowls on his red face flopping.
“Resting in peace, you assholes.”
“Goddamn motherfucker!” Susan stamped a foot.
The Pollyanna hissed, whipping its head from side to side in fast lashes.
“What’s your agenda, Susan?” Eve clutched her scissors. If the Pollyanna broke free, she’d go for the eyes first.
Susan snickered amidst the struggle, red lips curling into a sneer. “They pay up or I keep right on talkin’. Tellin’ anyone who will listen about their messin’ with vampires and evil magic and all the rest. And with my big boy here? I got proof. The real deal.”
The real deal screamed again, its rattle shaking so fast it streaked a blur in the air.
“Where are the others?”
“In his belly!” Rustin exclaimed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his naked chest.
Since Pollyanna bodies contained vampire blood, by cannibalizing others, the top beast would benefit from the growth serum in their sacrificed guts. A certain coveted item would likely also turbocharge the Pollyanna. “You fed it the towel soaked in Jonnie’s blood to accelerate its growth.”
“You bet your ass.” Dale, hunched comically low with his clothed gut pressed into the beast’s thorax, spoke like Eve was an idiot for questioning why anyone would make such a choice.
Yet somehow, Eve didn’t feel like the idiot here. “What do you gain by growing it so huge?”
“Duh, they pay by the pound.” Rustin stuck out his tongue.