From Beyond the Darkening © 2008 by Kerry Allen
Chapter Five
When he woke, instinct pointed him toward the nearest source of blood and dragged him halfway across the room on his hands and knees before his mind became alert and reestablished command of his limbs.
He retreated to his corner and wiped the sweat from his face. The fever accelerated draining of his reserves. He needed to feed soon, before he added physical damage to his list of crimes against Amanda. “You can quit holding your breath. It’s passed.”
”My offer stands. I’ll give you enough blood to get you through a few more hours.”
He raised a brow at her generosity. “Done being angry with me?”
”I hope you choke on it, but I’d rather feed you while you’re lucid than wait until you snap and attack.”
Hunger stated its preference by cramping every muscle in his body—not the worst he’d experienced, but a warning of what he had to look forward to if the deprivation lasted much longer. Feeding from her would spare him a lot of discomfort. It would also introduce a predator-prey dynamic to a relationship too fragile to survive another hit. “I can make it through another night.”
”Suit yourself.”
Now she sounded pissed, probably envisioning a future of carrying him on her back, blind, crippled with hunger pangs, dead weight slowing her down. He hadn’t proved himself useful for anything but heavy lifting so far. For want of any other relevant talent, he fell back on that one and flipped the mattress on its side.
”What are you doing?”
”Wishing I’d thought to search while we had a light and your eyes. It would be odd to leave nothing more useful than a bed in a bolt hole like this.” His fingers raked over something small, cold, and metal embedded in the dirt. “I think I found those keys.”
”Gee, it would have been a shame if I found those before you almost scored.”
It would have been, and not because he would have missed out on the opportunity to cop a feel. If they hadn’t been trapped together, he wouldn’t have learned how badly he’d screwed up and would have lost this chance to make amends. She wasn’t going to make it easy on him, though. “Believe it or not, I had the best of intentions. Took your mind off the phobia for a while, didn’t it?”
”And put it on much more pleasant memories. Thanks loads.”
He bumped his head on the ceiling when he stood, and twice more as he made his way toward her. The proportions weren’t designed with pygmy vampires in mind, but children. Most parents didn’t share his father’s philosophy that old enough to walk meant old enough to fight. He hoped the family that used to live here packed up and moved the night the SPH came to the neighborhood, before they had to hide their terrified children in the ground.
Even full-grown, having a hostile party standing in the way of freedom was a little scary. “Did you work that shovel loose while I slept?”
”Come here and find out.”
She didn’t have enough room to wind up for a decent side-to-side swing or a downward chop, but a well-placed forward thrust or uppercut from the floor could make him pray for death. “You want out of this hole too much to take a swipe at me.”
”Who are you trying to convince?”
His hand shot out and closed around the handle, wedged tight exactly where it had fallen. Maybe when this was over they could go to Atlantic City—no way he’d go anywhere near Vegas again—so she could bluff herself a fortune at the poker tables. “For the record, I would have helped you anyway, provided you left me standing. I’m going to need an exemption from the leave-my-ass-here-if-I-touch-you rule before I can boost you out of here.”
”I couldn’t go far without the keys.”
He had a number of very good reasons not to make it easier for her to get away, but her resentment called for a demonstration of good faith. “Hold out your hand.”
The instant the keys dropped into her palm, she jerked her hand away. “For the record, I can’t leave you here. Your life is all I have to bargain with when I run into your brother.”
Leo would have to go through him to get to her. He wasn’t in the best condition for a knock-down, drag-out fight, but brotherhood had some privileges. Sentimentality? Not in this case. Knowing in which closets the skeletons were stashed made for much better leverage. “I’ll handle Leo. Use my hands as a stirrup.”
After a few kicks to his shins he wasn’t convinced were accidental, she managed to get one foot in his hands. The feel of brought a smile to his lips. Her mother had always assured her she would grow into her oversized feet. By fifteen, Amanda had accepted that only some kind of radiation-induced mutation would result in such a growth spurt. “Still sensitive about your feet?”
”Nope. They’re the perfect size to stuff in your big mouth if you make one wisecrack.”
His grinned widened. He boosted her up to the hatch but didn’t hear the bolt slide from its slot. “Do you need to be higher?”
”No.”
He waited another thirty seconds. “Are you trying to open it with telepathy?”
Her weight shifted. “What if they’re waiting out there?”
Reluctance to stick her neck out was a legitimate cause for delay, but unnecessary. “They’re not.”
”How do you know? You can’t hear or smell anything through all this dirt.”
Maybe under other circumstances. Definitely not when every molecule of air in the space had taken her scent and his ear pressed against her thigh throbbed with her pulse. His common sense appeared to be in working order, however. “They’ve had all day to go over this place. They could’ve brought in bloodhounds. Hell, they probably know this house inside and out, considering where it’s located. They’d have found us, and they wouldn’t have waited for us to pop up like groundhogs.”
Judging by the ease of their escape, her first boarding school had more formidable security than one of the SPH’s top-secret labs. He somehow doubted that was the case. “They’re not looking for us, Amanda.”
”This is not a trick!”
”I know. Not yours, anyway.” He’d accused her of so many things, no wonder she couldn’t tell when he’d stopped. “You’re one of Leo’s sacrificial lambs, aren’t you? He forged your credentials, provided enough training to back them up, and sent you into the vipers’ nest to spy for him.”
”It was my choice.”
He could guess when Leo asked her to make that choice. Hey, sorry my little brother crapped all over you back there. Might I suggest throwing your life away for a noble cause? “Doesn’t matter now. They made you. They caught me. They’re letting us get away, hoping we’ll lead them to bigger game.”
”Who?”
Any vampire of importance was too proud to hide, too vain to keep a low profile. It would be easier to snatch one off the street than arrange this elaborate scheme. “If they had anybody in particular in mind, they wouldn’t need us.”
”Leo is my only contact.”
And a very nice catch for the enemy. Prominent family, high-security position, lots of secrets to divulge. “Let’s trade him.”
”Nathan.”
”It would get the SPH off our backs, Leo off yours, and think how happy he’d be, right in the middle of the action instead of directing it from afar.”
”You wouldn’t let them have your brother.”
She was right, dammit. Loyalty had a long history of getting him in trouble up to his severed eyeballs, but Leo’s every man for himself approach came with its own drawbacks—nobody else liked the bastard enough to risk their life to save his. “Not permanently. For a week. Maybe two, since the first would be like a spa retreat for General Hardass.”
He had more than enough strength to lift her, but the burn in his muscles let him know how much fuel it cost him. “This is not intended to in any way imply you are anything other than light as air, but I can’t hold you like this indefinitely.”
The bolt grated against the underside of the door. Fresh air poured through the opening, but no shouts or gunfire. He hiked her up so she could climb to the floor above.
Her voice fell from overhead. “Pass me the shovel.”
”Sorry. I’ll have to stand on it to get myself out.”
”I’ve seen you jump higher. Don’t be such a chicken. I need it to unstick the garage door.”
He saw no way around it other than flat refusal, which wouldn’t score him any points. He dislodged the shovel and passed it to her. She didn’t whack him with it when he climbed out. He expressed his gratitude by chiseling through the packed dirt impeding the opening of the barn door. The key fit in the ignition. The truck not only started on the first try but had a full tank of gas.
Except for the frigid wall between them, it was shaping up to be better night than the last.
She drove in silence, for the most part. Periodically, unasked, she said something to orient him, just as she had last night. The commentary combated the worst part of being blind—unawareness of what was happening beyond the range of his working senses. His suspicion she’d stop if he pointed out she was doing anything to make him feel better prevented him from expressing his appreciation.
The truck slowed, turned, then shuddered to a halt. She killed the engine but said nothing to explain the stop.
”Where are we?”
”Hank’s Truck Stop and Biker Bar, one of those charming establishments where you can eat and get gas. Since I haven’t eaten in thirty-six hours, that’s a chance I’m willing to take. Maybe we can find something for you too.” Her hand swept across the seat. Then her forehead thumped against the steering wheel. “Crap. I left my bag in the pit.”
”I vote we don’t go back for it.”
”No kidding.” She rummaged through the change the previous owner left in a dashboard compartment. “I’m going to try the pay phone, then see what a dollar thirty-five will buy in the name of food.”
”Who are you calling?”
The coins clinked together in her hand. “Dan.”
Daniel Tessler didn’t qualify for SPH membership, but he’d never liked his baby sister hanging with the fanged set. “Better leave me out of that conversation. I’m not your brother’s favorite person.”
”He doesn’t have one of those, but he’s never let that stop him from helping me when I need him. Besides, even if I could reach Leo, I’m dead to him after disobeying a direct order. Who’s left, your mom?”
His mother would be less concerned with their predicament than about what people would say about it. “Your folks?”
”They were my first choice, but they wouldn’t be much help from Guatemala.”
He’d forgotten they left not long after Amanda. “Do you talk to them?”
”Not for six years, but they’re my family. It wouldn’t matter if we were separated for twenty.”
He envied her conviction. He hadn’t known how dysfunctional his family was until he met hers. Her parents spoke to each other, worked together to solve their problems, loved each other and their offspring and weren’t stingy about showing it. They’d find a way to help, even from another continent. When someone cared, they found a way.
”Wait in the truck.”
”Forget it.” He got out with her. The reek of gasoline from nearby pumps overwhelmed his nose. The floodlights illuminating the parking lot buzzed in his ears, and his right eye perceived a tiny speck of light. Even filtered through the scarf, it stabbed into his brain like an ice pick. Only one sight would make the return of vision worth the pain involved. “I have a feeling that outfit will cause problems in a place like this.”
She sighed. “Fine, but wait there. If we have to make a quick getaway, I’m not wasting my time dragging your bony butt back to the truck.”
He expected her to be testy, but her continued threats of abandonment grated on his nerves. Even if she admitted only to keeping him as a bargaining chip, she wouldn’t leave him. “You’ve gone back to pretending we’re strangers.”
”I’m not pretending. You don’t know me at all.”
”I made a mistake. You’ve forgiven me for a few of those in the past.”
”There’s a big difference between this kind of mistake and a bringing me Coke when I asked for Sprite kind of mistake. This wasn’t absentminded or inconsiderate. You didn’t just hurt my feelings.”
Every time he’d teased, insulted, or bruised her during the course of their relationship, she’d come at him swinging. He’d wounded her deeply to rob her of her will to fight, to make her run. Deeply enough to change her. “Don’t you want to know why?”
”I did six years ago. Maybe even five. Since then, I’ve had more important things to worry about.”
Coins plinked into a slot. Muffled tones sounded as she punched the number keys. Her fingernails ticked against plastic. “It’s his machine. I need your help, Dan. Pick up if you’re there. I’m staying on the line until my nickels run out. Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
His hair ruffled in the draft created by the traffic. One vehicle moved a little slower than the others, not a cause for alarm in and of itself, but the particular rumble of the engine had been distinct enough to claim a spot in his memory when it passed in the opposite direction a minute earlier.
She snickered. “I don’t think you have to worry about me being molested.”
The car kept moving, fading to the south.”Why’s that?”
”I’ve seen my reflection. I look like I spent the day in a hole in the ground.” Her laughter brought an answering smile to his lips. “I have a worm in my hair. Here, catch!”
A worm fight? That took him back about twenty years.
The truck’s windshield exploded.
What the hell kind of worm was that?
A second bullet punctured the side of the truck before his sluggish brain registered gunfire. He leapt toward Amanda and sandwiched her between him and the building. “Door!”
She lurched to the left. He pushed her in that direction, hunched over to shield her from the bullets smashing into the side of the building. She wrenched the door open and they spilled inside, falling to the floor.
Above their heads, a series of clicks signaled a hell of a lot of guns being cocked. He crouched over her and snarled in warning.
She squeezed his arm. “They’re not pointed at us.”
In that case, he could ignore them for now. The scent of blood overpowered that of greasy food, beer, and unwashed bodies. “Are you hit?”
”No.” Her fingers smeared wetness across his cheek. “It’s you.”
He touched the gash, no more than an inch in length. Nicked by shrapnel, not a bullet wound. “It’s a scratch. It’ll heal.”
”Not before you bleed out because of the warfarin.”
”Now, that’s nasty stuff,” a gruff voice said overhead. “My mama’s on that, and we had to take away her nail clippers after she nipped herself and ’bout bled to death. Somebody oughta stitch up that vampire before he does the same.”
Nate helped Amanda to her feet, tucking her close to his side. “This is kind of a bad time for a first aid break.”
”Ain’t gonna be a better time, son.”
”He’s right.” She used a wad of paper napkins that stank of fried onions to staunch the flow of blood. “Got a sewing kit?”
”I can do you better than that. I’m Hank, by the way.”
They followed him through a swinging door, beyond which the smell of overcooked onions increased tenfold, suspended in the steamy air. Meat sizzled on a grill. A refrigerator hummed in the background. A bolt-action rifle was readied for use.
Amanda stayed glued to his side and muttered, “It’s not a diner. It’s a fortress. Cinderblock, no windows, and enough firepower to outlast the zombie apocalypse.”
He plucked at the sodden fabric of his shirt. If not for the smell, he’d think he landed in a puddle of spilled beer. He didn’t bleed like this. Ever. “How much trouble are we in?”
”I think we maxed out that commodity in the parking lot. Until these guys start shooting at us, I’m willing to consider them pals.”
He didn’t share her confidence. The air was thick with testosterone and adrenaline, an explosive combination, even more dangerous with the introduction of a woman, alcohol, and firearms.
”Have a seat over here, vampire.”
He kept a possessive hand on her shoulder and lowered himself onto a creaky metal stool. Cracked vinyl poked through his jeans.
”You brought us trouble,” Hank said.
”Sorry about that.”
”You’re not the ones shooting up my place. You’re unarmed, and you look like you’ve been dangling your feet in the grave. Hardly seems like a fair fight.”
A drawer rattled open. Amanda whistled. “Pretty well-equipped emergency room you have here.”
”A nurse friend keeps us stocked up. We got a gang of bloodsuckers that blows through here now and again. Easier to keep ‘em friendly if the only blood out in the open is the bagged sort. We patch up our wounded after our squabbles and run the tools through the dishwasher after.”
She pried the napkins away from his face. “Good thing your immune system considers hepatitis a delicacy.”
His feet stayed flat on the floor, so it wasn’t the stool spinning when the world reeled. He grabbed her arm for support and rested his head against her shoulder. Her skin was slick with blood. He licked at it. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”
Metal implements clinked as she organized her supplies. “I’m aware I could use a shower.”
He found a bit of unbloodied skin on her neck and pressed his tongue to it to cleanse his palate. Earthy, salty, a little bit sweet. Sexy. “You’re tasty. Blood’s bad.”
”And you’re loopy enough we can skip the anesthetic.” She sat him upright and pinched the wound closed. The cold sting of the needle pierced his flesh, followed by the tug of the thread.
”You’re lucky, vamp. She sews prettier than I do. I’m gonna pull my van up to the back door and go assert my rights as a property owner. I’d be obliged if my insurance company found that hunk of junk in the bottom of a lake when you’re done with it.”
”Thank you, Hank.” She finished her stitching and cleaned Nate’s face with a cool, damp cloth.
What he wouldn’t give for a bath. A dirty, bloody, gaunt vampire with a beaded scarf wrapped around his head disgraced the image of a decadent creature of the night. Fortunately, he had other fine qualities with which to woo her. “I have a lot of money, you know.”
”Right now, twenty bucks in your pocket would impress me a lot more than the billion in your trust fund.” She lifted his shirt.
”But now you want me naked.” He raised his arms to make stripping him easier, but she didn’t finish the job.
”Moron. You’re bruised all over. You have to take it easy for a week or two, no more heroically diving on top of damsels in distress. You’re kind of delicate right now.” She sucked in a breath. “And I clubbed you with a flashlight.”
He flinched as her fingers found the sore spot under his hair. “Oh, Nathan, I’m so sorry.”
He caught her hand. She cared if he was hurt. He’d take guilt over callous indifference any day. “The benefit of having a hard head is that it’s impervious to blows from angry women.”
”I’ll be gone soon. The rest of your recovery should be much less hazardous to your health.”
He tightened his grip. “Don’t go.”
”I didn’t mean I’d abandon you. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of first.”
”I don’t need to be taken care of.” He touched her face, the fringe of her lashes, the swell of her cheek, her petal-soft lips. He hadn’t had time to develop a blind man’s knack for translating touch to mental images, but he remembered her—china doll complexion, big brown eyes, a mouth she was always calling his attention to. Smiling, compressing it to a grim line when she was irritated with him, biting her lower lip, pulling at it when she got nervous. “I like having you around again.”
She turned her lips to his palm but took a deep breath and stepped away instead of delivering the kiss he craved. “I suppose you can’t be too choosy about your companions under these circumstances. Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head this time.”
A metal door reverberated under a heavy fist.
”That’s our cue to leave.” She ushered him out of the building into the waiting van. “Sit in the back.”
Exiling him a few feet away seemed pointless. “Why?”
A barrage of gunfire erupted on the other side of the building.
She shoved him into the van, climbed in after him, and slammed the door closed. She slapped a plastic pouch in each of his hands. “They’re your favorite flavor. Cooler’s to your right. Knock yourself out.”
She claimed the driver’s seat and peeled out of the truck stop. A lone bullet pinged against the side of the van, answered by a flurry of return fire. Mindful of the gas pumps, he willed her to drive faster. Then the hunger ripped through him like a knife, carving away all thought of anything but food.
Bagged blood flowed too freely. There was no drop in pressure to warn it was time to take a break, take a walk, take a different source. He swallowed too much, too fast, leaving him with a heavy gut and a thick head. He leaned against a second cooler to his left while his stomach processed his gluttony.
The first cooler held enough blood to feed a healthy vampire for a couple weeks. He would go through it a lot faster while healing, but double that amount of blood seemed far too generous a donation. Curious about what else Hank might want dumped at the bottom of a lake, he opened the second cooler. A flannel bundle, which turned out to be a shirt, concealed a wad of cash and a semiautomatic pistol. Beneath that, the aroma of grease emanated from Styrofoam.
He popped open the box. “Mm. I smell cholesterol.”
The van swerved when the scent reached the driver’s seat. “Gimme.”
He doubted her ability to drive and eat a burger the size of the steering wheel at the same time. He moved to the passenger seat and tore off bite-sized pieces which she snatched from his hand. Every few bites, she let slip a little moan or a blissful sigh reminiscent of the sounds she’d made while his hands were busy under her dress the previous night.
He derailed that train of thought before his belly wasn’t the only organ bloated with blood.
She declined his next offering with a sniffly, “I can’t.”
”Are you crying? Are you sick?” He felt her forehead. Not feverish, not clammy. He threw the container in the back of the van. “What did that bastard make me feed you?”
”I might’ve wanted the rest of that later, you spaz. I’m fine, except I can’t see the road.” She batted his hand away. “A bunch of guys with Confederate flags and prison tattoos and more racist and misogynist slogans than I’ve ever seen at one time printed on their T-shirts went to war to defend a strange vampire who fell into their bar.”
She took a couple deep breaths to steady the quaver in her voice. “But a few men with Brooks Brothers suits and cushy offices on Capitol Hill can’t sleep at night as long as they’re sharing a planet with abominations like you, bellowing from their soapboxes genocide is okay as long as they’re not like us. How long until their kind are herding yours into boxcars?”
The non-human population had awaited a similar development since humans first became aware of their existence. “If that day comes, we’ll fight back.”
”Which they’ll film and splash on the news so everyone can see what vicious monsters you are.”
Violence would be the smallest portion of the battle. “We have our own propaganda machine, charismatic leaders, money, and friends with Brooks Brothers suits and offices on Capitol Hill. More importantly, friends in Hollywood.”
That wrung a weak laugh from her, as he meant it to. The question wasn’t whether it would happen, but when. They couldn’t let fear rule their lives in the meantime. “People aren’t as naive as they used to be. After decades of manipulation by the media, they disbelieve almost everything they see on the news. For every one who sees us shed blood and decides we’re monsters, there will be fifty who say they would have done worse if someone broke into their houses and tried to drag them away from their families.”
”Yet the SPH gets away with what it does.”
”They’ve maintained a low profile until now. Preservation of humanity is a slogan few humans find objectionable. They don’t cost taxpayers a lot of money. If one vampire or the occasional human goes missing, it’s easy to cover up. Shooting up a truck stop, on the other hand, is bound to attract some unwanted attention.” A couple dozen humans didn’t vanish into thin air all at once, and neither did hundreds of bullet holes or the witnesses passing on the highway during the shootout. “There will be video of it on YouTube within the hour.”
”You always made it so easy to believe everything would be okay in the end.”
The words made him sound like some kind of hero, but the sadness underlying them reminded him he’d let her down when it mattered most. He couldn’t guarantee world peace, but he would commit to a personal promise. “We’re a long way from the end.”
A battle wasn’t over until everyone agreed on a winner.
Since he had no intention of admitting defeat with Amanda, she could count on being stuck with him for a long, long time.
From Beyond the Darkening © 2008 by Kerry Allen
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