Deliverance of the Damned

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  “Is she? She must not have gone far if she’s the one who trashed your lab.”

  “But she’s not at the prison. I will be. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Hannah stroked Noah’s hair and kissed his fat cheek, then sighed. “Do you trust this Julia?”

  “No. I’m not even sure I trust Celine. But Julia has nothing against us.”

  “Until she finds out we’re building an army of human-vampire hybrids right under her nose.”

  “Yes, well.” Alek leaned forward and set his spaghetti—if it could be called that—on the table. He didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway. What he wouldn’t give for a big, steaming bowl of goulash like his mother used to make. “If all goes as planned, our kind will outnumber hers before she catches on.”

  Hannah let out a bitter-sounding huff of air. “When has anything ever gone as planned?”

  He leaned back and patted the sofa beside him. “C’mere.” When she only gave him a skeptical look, he added, “Please?”

  She came and sat next to him. He took the baby and nestled him into the crook of his arm. The boy was growing fast. He would start crawling soon, and would be walking before they knew it. Alek didn’t relish the thought of these things happening inside prison walls any more than Hannah did.

  He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her as she snuggled up against him. Alek closed his eyes, breathing in their scent, etching the memory of this moment into his mind’s eye. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.

  “Do you have any idea how precious you both are to me? Do you know the lengths I would go to to keep you safe?”

  Hannah tilted her head back until she could meet his gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes a long moment before she said, “Yeah. I do.”

  He bent to kiss her. She kissed him back in a way that made him wish he wasn’t holding the baby, or that Chris wasn’t napping in his bed. He pulled away before things went where they weren’t prepared to go. Still leaning against him, she reached up and traced a fingernail along his jaw. It made a scratching noise. She smiled and rubbed his cheek. “This is new.”

  Alek rubbed the stubble covering the lower half of his face. “Huh. I can’t even remember the last time I needed to shave.”

  “You picked up a tan today, too. No more neon white.”

  “What do you think of the new me?”

  She smiled like the girl she still was. “I like it.” Then her smile faded, and that older-than-her-years look returned. She let go of him and leaned forward, propping her forearms against her knees and clasping her hands between them. “I’m not so sure about my own changes, though.”

  “You look the same.”

  “Except for my eyes.”

  “When I look in your eyes, I still see Hannah.”

  She looked back at him. “I feel different.”

  “How so?”

  She waved a hand as if to direct him to an answer hanging in the air. “You saw what I could do when I fought Esme. And the things I can hear, and smell...”

  He rubbed her back in circles. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Do I want to?”

  “You want to go back to what you were?”

  She stared out at the room.

  Alek leaned forward, setting the baby on his knee. “It’s like you told Esme. You—we—are humanity’s future. We’re what humanity needs to become to survive this world. So he can survive.” He motioned to Noah.

  Hannah regarded her brother. “That’s kind of a low blow.”

  “But it’s the truth. Let me ask you this. You knew me as a vampire. You loved me then. Why?”

  She looked at him, seeming to study his face. Then she shrugged. “You were just so...”

  “Human?”

  She let her gaze drop, her silence affirming his assumption.

  “And now that I’m less vampire?”

  “You’re still you.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “So are you. When Esme infected me, it changed my physical makeup, but it didn’t alter my soul. No more than this vaccine has altered yours.”

  Her gaze drifted toward the bedroom. “What about him?”

  “Christopher?”

  She nodded.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s different.”

  “He’s not fully healed.”

  “I know. But he seems so... so angry.”

  Alek nodded. “The trauma he experienced is bound to have a negative impact on his psyche.”

  “Do you think that’s all it is?”

  “I think that’s enough. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about Phineas Gage.”

  The name sounded familiar, but it took a moment of searching his memory to know why. “The railroad worker who had a spike driven through his head?”

  “I had to take intro to psychology in college. I learned about him there. He survived, but the brain damage altered his personality. He went from this nice, easy-going guy to a big, angry jerk.”

  “I studied this case, too. The spike impaled Gage’s frontal lobe, effectively lobotomizing him. A lobotomy typically makes someone more passive, but in Gage’s case the opposite occurred. Although he reportedly returned to normal after a time.”

  Alek jerked his head toward the bedroom. “In Chris’s case, we’re not talking about localized damage. His brain underwent death and oxygen deprivation. His recovery time has been miraculous.”

  “You don’t think he came back changed?”

  Alek measured his words. “I think the damage done to his psyche will take much longer to heal.”

  Hannah looked toward the bedroom as if considering. After a moment she asked, “Can we trust him? That stunt he pulled today with my gun—”

  “I believe he learned his lesson. But he’s always been brash and impulsive. That much hasn’t changed.”

  She looked at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “We should keep an eye on him. For his protection as much as anything. But he wants what we want, and he’ll do what’s necessary to rescue his mother.”

  Hannah nodded. “That’s what worries me.”

  EIGHT

  THEY REMAINED PARKED until sundown, when at last the helicopters headed back to their camp. Someone had undoubtedly sent them to search for her, although Aleksandr would also make a prized catch. Whether they sought to return Esme to her position running the prison camp or to punish her for her failure, she didn’t know. But she would take no chances. There was no telling what that traitor Celine had reported.

  Esme would go to Balthazar and explain herself. Her sire would believe her. She could never deceive him and he knew she would never try.

  It would take days, if not weeks, to get to him. She’d already spent days in the woods, feeding and sleeping, healing from the damage that freakish girl had inflicted. Once she felt strong enough to get going, she‘d thought it would be safer to travel by day. Her new pet would drive while she hid in the shade provided by blankets hung over the bus’s windows.

  But they didn’t get far before he’d announced the bus needed fuel and he needed food.

  Esme had pulled on her gloves and put her cowl in place before climbing out of the bus. She didn’t bother bringing a weapon. While she found it helpful to keep a gun trained on him while he drove, they both knew that she could snap his neck if he tried anything.

  He stood beside the pump, making no move to fill the bus.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “The pump has no power. Even if it did, it’s locked. Without cash or a credit card, there’s no way to turn it on. I don’t suppose you brought your purse.” The sarcasm in his voice almost made her smile. This one hadn’t been broken. Yet.

  “You and your murderous band of cretins roamed the countryside for who knows how long. Surely you’ve discovered a way to get fuel when you need it.”

  He seemed to grimace, but it was hard to tell under that matted bush he called a beard.
“We have to go inside.”

  Esme gestured for him to go ahead, then followed him into the store. The front door was smashed, the place looted. Glass crunched under their feet as they made their way inside.

  The gas station sold tacky souvenirs and fishing gear alongside snacks and cheap beer. The looters had been after the latter, too hurried to do a thorough job. Sweets and bags of chips littered the floor.

  Her new acquisition found a basket and filled it with enough of the garbage that passed for food among mortals to last several days. While he scavenged, Esme looked around. Moving away from the windows, she removed her mask and hood, the better to see what was in front of her. She faced shelves filled with personal hygiene products, including shaving cream and razors. She helped herself to one of each and took them to her hostage.

  “Here.” She tossed them into his basket.

  He eyed them skeptically. “What’re those for?”

  “For you, idiot. The rat’s nest covering your face is disgusting.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. By all means, let me make it more pleasant for you to steal my blood.”

  Ignoring him, she looked fruitlessly for scissors. “You could use a haircut. I suppose that knife I took off you will do the job.”

  “I wouldn’t cut my hair or shave my beard for the woman I marry. You think I’m gonna do it for the vampire bitch that abducted me?”

  “Either you do, or I do it for you.” Before he could utter another insult, she grabbed hold of his beard and yanked him close. “Or I could simply pull it out. Which would you prefer?”

  She had to hand it to him. His swearing was inventive. She listened until she grew bored, then pulled his beard until he winced and grunted in pain.

  “Now.” She released him and stepped back. “How do we get fuel?”

  Muttering curses, he rubbed his whiskers as he surveyed the store. Then he headed to the back, where they found shelves stocked with motor oil and other automotive supplies. He picked up a gas can, handed it to her and then tucked a crowbar under his arm before proceeding to the hunting and fishing section. There he grabbed a bucket and a length of rope. “Follow me.”

  Esme did so, bemused that he dared to command her. She donned her hood and mask as they retraced their steps back to the pumps. Once there, he set his basket of treats inside the bus and then carried the other items to a round piece of metal embedded in the ground. He set the bucket and rope next to it and used the crowbar to pry it open. Fumes escaped from the opening he’d uncovered. He tossed the crowbar aside, where it clanged and clattered on the ground. Uncoiling the rope, he tied one end to the handle of the bucket before lowering it into the hole.

  “Bring that gas can over here,” he ordered.

  Esme looked at the container. It only held one gallon. “This is how you propose to fill the bus? This will take all day.”

  “This ain’t for the bus.” He held his hand out. “Now bring it here.”

  Esme tossed him the can. It landed at his feet. With a murderous look, he retrieved the bucket from the gasoline well, then knelt to right the gas can. He removed the lid and poured in the bucket’s contents. Finally, he replaced the lid and got to his feet, lifting the gas can. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the store.

  Compelled by curiosity, Esme followed. Instead of going back inside, he went around the side, past a pair of washrooms, past a large garbage bin, and then rounded the corner to the back of the store.

  There, dormant but in good condition, sat a large generator. The human removed a gas cap and emptied the gas can into it. Then he grabbed a cord on the side of the machine and pulled.

  It sputtered and died.

  Swearing, he pulled again. And again.

  Finally Esme stepped forward. “Let me.” She took hold of the cord and gave it a yank. The generator roared to life.

  “Guess your kind ain’t completely useless.”

  “Without my kind, the plague would have destroyed yours.”

  “I don’t know about that. Me and my people did just fine without you. It was your people that slaughtered them.”

  “Only because you slaughtered ours first.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m looking forward to adding one more head to my tally.”

  With her face concealed from him, Esme allowed herself an amused smile. “What now?”

  “We go back inside.”

  She followed him into the store, lit with electric light and filled with the hum of refrigerators. He went behind the counter and pressed a button. “There. Now we can pump some gas.”

  “Then get to it.”

  He had just finished filling the tank when she heard the helicopters. Moments later she spotted them heading toward the Army base. After they descended, Esme and her charge headed back inside to wait them out.

  “My name’s Eddie, by the way,” he said after a prolonged silence.

  “I prefer to call you emergency rations.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe you can call me Eddie for short.” He turned away before muttering under his breath, “And I can keep calling you bitch.” He wandered over to the freezer case, where he removed a twelve-pack of beer and then took one out of the box. Discarding the rest, he returned with the can. “This is warm.” He popped it open. It didn’t hiss. “And flat. But it’ll still be the best beer I’ve had in ages.”

  He raised it to his lips, but Esme knocked it out of his hand. It sloshed its contents all over him on its way to the floor. “What the—”

  “No alcohol.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need to stay sober.”

  “What, you’re some kind of tea-totaling vamp?”

  “Believe me, there’s only one thing I like to drink as much as blood, and that’s a fine Scotch. But I need my wits about me. And that means you must keep yours.”

  “Fine.” Eddie gazed longingly at the spilled beer and swore. Then he glanced around. “There ought to be a pack of playing cards or something around here.”

  “I have a better idea. Come with me.”

  Rather than retrieving them from the bus, she led him back to the hygiene section and handed him a new set of razors and shaving cream. To this she added shampoo and body wash.

  “What’s all this?”

  “With that stale beer all over you, you reek even worse than before. Clean yourself up.”

  He looked as though he wanted to resist, but realized it would be useless. With a grudging glance, he went to the counter and retrieved the washroom key. Following him, Esme took a clean tee-shirt off of a rack. It was dark green with a picture of a bass on the front with the slogan, “I’d rather be fishing.”

  “I want to make something clear. I ain’t doing this for you,” he said once they were inside the men’s room. “Fact is it’ll be nice to clean up. Make me feel a little more civilized.”

  Esme didn’t bother to comment. Their banter had amused her for a while, but she’d grown weary of it. She stood in the doorway and kept her eyes and ears out for more helicopters, although she stole a glance after he’d stripped down. For a man who must be pushing forty, if not already past it, he had kept himself in good physical condition. That pleased her. If he was as healthy as he looked, he should last as long as she needed. As long as she didn’t get carried away.

  He caught her looking in the mirror. “Enjoying the show?”

  “Only in the sense you’d appreciate seeing a cut of prime beef.”

  Eddie winked at her. “I got your prime beef right here, darlin’.”

  Esme moved toward him and the cocky grin vanished. He grew still as she came up beside him, his expression wary. She studied him a moment, let him study her, wondering. Only when she reached for the can of shaving cream did he relax a little. She dispensed some into her palm and lathered his beard, taking her time and rubbing it in.

  When she had worked for her mother, before Balthazar had saved her, she specialized in making shaving an erotic experience. Back then she had used a straight
razor.

  A certain kind of man became powerfully turned on by knowing that a flick of her wrist could end his life, and also knowing, deep down, that she wanted nothing more. Did she dare? That question kept them coming back.

  Still, she didn’t need to look down to sense Eddie’s response as she slid the razor down his cheek, across his jaw and over his throat. “You don’t seem so repulsed by my kind now.”

  He swallowed. “Go to hell, bitch.” His voice rasped like dry leaves rubbing together.

  She smiled and finished her work. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and used it to wipe off what remained of the shaving cream. “There. Much better.” Without the beard, he could almost be called handsome.

  She bent down, and he gasped, his entire body growing rigid. She suppressed a laugh as she pulled his hunting knife from her boot. Straightening, she offered it to him by the handle. His expression confused, wary and, if she wasn’t mistaken, somewhat disappointed, he took it from her.

  “Now the hair,” she ordered, then went back to the door to keep watch. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him looking at the knife, considering his options. At last, he turned to the mirror and sawed off a chunk of matted hair, proving he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  Now, with the sun going down and the helicopters having departed, Eddie slept. He looked much improved, and smelled even better. Esme wondered if he would taste sweeter as well. Considering the food he’d taken from the store contained mostly sugar, she had no doubt that he would.

  She stroked his clean hair, wondering what it would take to make him truly hers. As much as she liked his spirit, her journey would be easier if he were a willing slave. Judging from his response to her while she’d shaved him, it wouldn’t take much. He was only a man, after all.

  Once enough time had passed for the helicopters to be long gone, she nudged him. “Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. For an instant, so fleeting she might have missed it, his gaze filled with desire. It hardened into hatred as he sat up.

  “Let’s get moving.” she told him. With a grunt, he got up and stumbled to the driver’s seat.