But in the midst of this conflict one of the men grew careless and stepped beyond the confines of the crater. The World was on him in a moment pushing its seed into his bloodstream. The man screamed as he was attacked, and the other men were warned. They didn't run to his aid; instead they fired their energy beams upon him without mercy. They'd had experience, the World thought. Before the men destroyed their partner, the World got a glimpse of the man's mind and understood that the machine the men were erecting was meant to rupture the crust of the World. It was a gigantic bomb. The men had come to kill the World. They wished to kill it because the transformed beings the World had sent back to the third planet had all but destroyed the human race. These men, the World saw, and a handful of others on the third planet were all that was left of a vast civilization, a culture that would now in all probability become extinct.
The World didn't know what to do. It could do nothing; the men were determined. The World watched as the men finished their machine the next day and then retreated into space. The World knew that the machine continued to tick; it could hear the sound of the machine's internal parts moving. It knew the count-down was on.
Then the mighty bomb exploded, and a deep pain shot through the mind of the World. A mushroom of fire appeared, and the World felt its insides scream. The men had accomplished their goal, the crust was ruptured. The spin of the World did the rest. Huge chunks of its body flew off into space. Then the incredible pressures at the centre of the World were released, and the World exploded in a horrendous burst of energy, and the agony was beyond relief.
Until it stopped. The pain suddenly stopped.
The World was gone. It was dead. Lifeless rocks tumbled through the void where once the World had lived and eaten supreme.
Yet a few small pieces of the World survived, in a confused state. Those chunks of the world's crust held the cells of the World. They floated for aeons with consciousness but no comprehension. They knew only their hunger, which they could no longer satisfy, and their hatred of the men who had destroyed their home. Above all else, they vowed that if there was ever a chance, they would take vengeance upon the people of the third planet.
In time it looked as if a few of the pieces were to be given that chance. Because as they tumbled through space, some pieces passed close to the third planet. Round and round the sun they went, until a few actually hit the planet. Of those, most landed in the vast oceans and were lost. But two hit the land, and once more there was great fire and pain for the feeble remnants of the World’s once-vast mind. Almost all of the cells were destroyed in the heat of the landing, but a few lived in the rock that was eventually softened by the mighty glaciers. The glaciers left many lakes behind – the waters in which the cells eventually found release. There, in two small bodies of fresh water on the third planet, the cells multiplied and waited for the day they could once more cause the blood to flow in those who had destroyed their home. The sweet red blood, the only thing that truly satisfied the hunger.
“Angie,” Kevin said.
Angela opened her eyes. She saw the ceiling of the basement, the exposed boards of the floor above, a single bulb burning bright. She smelt blood, the sour taste of copper in the air, and beneath that, the faint aroma of sweet iron. She moved her jaw and heard it crack. Her fact was covered with gook; she could feel its dried stickiness stretch as her skin flexed. Blood, she thought. An angry heart pounded inside her skull. Every beat brought greater and greater pressure, demanding relief. She tried to sit up, and the pain went off the scale.
“Ouch,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut and doubling up. Kevin held her a moment, trying to help her.
“Don't get up,” he said. “Just sit. We don't have anywhere to go at the moment anyway.”
She reopened her eyes to see she was sitting in a puddle of blood. It was caked over her face. Her fingers flew up to her head. She had a cut, a bad bruise at the back of her skull, but she couldn't have lost all the blood she was sitting in. She glanced at Kevin. He didn't look that much worse off for Jim's blow, although the left side of his face was puffy. He wasn't soaked in the stuff. What had they done to her? Poured a gallon of blood down her throat while she lay unconscious on her back? She had a horrible taste in her mouth. But it didn't rival the pounding in her head. Nothing could touch that. She was going to have to eat something soon, or she was going to have to saw the top of her head open.
“How long have you been awake?” Angela asked, pulling the front of her shirt out of her pants and rubbing her face.
“Just a couple of minutes,” Kevin said. His eyes strayed to the ceiling. “We're locked down here. They're still up there.”
She listened. The boards creaked overhead. “I'm not surprised.”
Kevin rubbed his head. “What the hell's going on? Do they blame us for the deaths of Todd and Kathy?”
“I doubt they're worried about that at the moment.”
“Then why did they clobber the two of us? What are they all doing here? Jim told me you were having a party.”
“This is not a party,” Angela said.
“I can see that. Tell me what's going on. Please?”
“We are being held captive by thirty vampires from outer space.”
“Angie?”
“That's all I know.” Her nightmare came back to her right then. The ruin of the ancient human civilization. The men’s bomb. The death of the evil World. The asteroids' long stumble through time and space and the rebirth of the parasitic cells in the water of the two lakes. She added, “Don't ask me any more.”
Kevin was impatient. “That's not good enough, Angie.”
She winced in pain. “I'm sorry.”
He was instantly regretful and reached out to touch her head. “We have to get you to a doctor,” he said.
She was very aware of his hand on her skin. It was almost as if each one of the cells in the region where he was making contact had its own unique radar to detect different characteristics of his flesh. She was especially sensitive to the blood in his fingers, flowing beneath the surface of his skin. Such a frail sheet of skin – that simple layer of humanity that took only moments to peel away…
The pounding in her head reached a feverish pitch.
She pushed his hand away.
“I’m all right,” she said, getting up without his help. A wave of dizziness passed through her, but soon she was steady on her feet. The basement had no windows, of course; she knew that without checking. There was only one way out – the door up to the first floor of the house. She strode over to the corner where she had hidden her bottles of gasoline under a big blue plastic tarp. She pulled away the covering. The bottles were still there.
But the fuse was gone.
She searched in her pockets. They had taken her lighters.
“What's in those bottles?” Kevin asked. He was not stupid. The way they were roped together said she was not storing up fresh drinking water.
“Gasoline,” she said.
His eyes widened. “Are they going to blow us up?”
“No,” she said. “I was going to blow them up.”
“Why, for God's sakes?”
“For the sake of God,” she told him. She understood right then that there was no getting away. The best she could hope for was to stop them. It was going to mean that both she and Kevin would die, and that made her sadder than she could bear. But it was the way it had to be. He was watching her with fear in his eyes.
“Have you lost your mind?” he asked.
“Kevin,” she said sadly, “those people up there are evil. Mary was right – they kill others. There's no way to convince the authorities of what they're really like because for a long time they look like you and me. But they’re not like us. They've got something growing in them that they’ve got to feed, that pushes them to take revenge against all of humanity. There's no way to stop them but to kill them.”
“You sound as bad as Mary.”
“Mary's dead,” she said.
“They killed her.”
He tried to hug her. “Angie?”
“Stay away,” she said, pushing him aside a bit too hard. He almost fell down. She reminded herself how strong she had become. She seemed a lot stronger than she had been when Jim had arrived with Kevin tonight. Had they really poured blood down her throat? Whose blood had it been? Kevin was totally confused.
“What's wrong with you?” he pleaded.
“Right now I have many personal problems, but I can't go into all of them.” She scanned the basement. There were the concrete walls and one wood-panelled – her grandfather never finished panelling the room. “Do you have any matches?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“Do you have a lighter?”
“I don't smoke, Angie. You're not going to try to light those bottles off.”
She stared him straight in the eye. Once more, as in Mary’s cabin, she felt a magnetic current flow up her spine, into her head, and out her eyes. The invisible mind-twister – she hoped it was working well this time.
“But I am, Kevin,” she said softly. “That's exactly what I’m going to do. Now I want you to stand there and do nothing. I don't want you to interfere.”
Suddenly he was breathing hard – sweating profusely. “You can't,” he whispered.
“I can. I will. Don't interfere.” She tore at a corner piece of the wood panelling. Tightening her fingers on the wood, she heard it crunch beneath the pressure of her grip. Her tendons felt like steel cords. She had broken off a three-foot section of splintered wood, which she snapped in two across her knee. One end looked like a jagged spear. She returned to her bottles in the corner and stabbed the nearest one. Gasoline gurgled on to the floor.
“Angie,” Kevin croaked at her back, frozen in place.
“Shut up. Be still.”
“You must stop.”
“I’ll stop when they're stopped,” she said. She knelt and stood the jagged piece up in the middle of the growing puddle of gasoline. She gripped the top of it tightly with her left hand. In her right hand she held the second piece of wood. The monsters upstairs obviously had never been Boy Scouts or Girl Scouts, and didn't know all the games she knew. They had taken away her lighters – big deal. She needed just one good spark. She struck the piece of wood hard along the length of the other piece. She was strong – it would take only a few tries. She closed her eyes. It would be over soon.
But she weakened. She had driven herself within an inch of death, and perhaps the alien organism that flowed in her veins had even helped her so far. But the human part of her couldn't bear it. She was only eighteen. She didn't want to die. Certainly, she didn't want to die by her own hand. Tears burst out of her eyes, and the pieces of wood in her hands shook and fell into the gasoline. Blood and tears and gasoline; she tasted all three of them at once – a potion of despair.
“I can't,” she moaned.
The next thing she knew, Kevin's arms were round her, comforting her. His gentle words in her ear told her everything was going to be all right. Bur his touch brought her no relief. It only hammered on the already unbearable pounding in her skull. He turned her towards him, and she smelt him a million times more intensely than the way she used to smell the meat on the barbecue when she was starving and it was almost, but not quite, ready to eat.
I am so ready, God.
“We'll get out of here,” Kevin promised her.
She studied him – such a beautiful boy, so handsome. He had never really turned her on before, and now she couldn't imagine why not. She stroked his hair. She felt the bump where he had hit the wall. He had broken skin there. Taking a deep breath, she caressed the spot. It seemed to bring him pleasure, just her touching his head. He closed his eyes briefly. She withdrew the finger and licked it quickly with her tongue. A drop of blood, a pinch of pleasure. She touched his small wound again. She dug into it deeper this time, using her nails.
“Ouch,” he said, drawing back slightly. His eyes popped open.
“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. She had more blood on her hands now. But she couldn't lick it with him watching her – he wouldn't approve.
He stared at her. “You look different.”
“You look good.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she croaked. His eyes were sort of bloodshot. She could count the veins round his irises. She could almost count the veins inside his pupils, the openings into his brain. She felt as if she could just reach out and touch his brain, squeeze it a little, she could make him feel a little better and herself a whole lot better. It was the thought of these little things that seemed to ease the pounding in her head. She really had to stop it from pounding, or else she was going to go mad. “Kiss me,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
He chuckled. “Angie, we have to get out of here.”
“I know. Kiss me.” She grabbed him and pulled him closer. “Now.”
He kissed her. He was not as aggressive as good old Jimmy boy. But he was sweet nevertheless. He kissed with more style, in a way, more flavour. She nibbled on his lip a tiny bit. He lasted just fine in her book. He drew back. He had blood on his mouth. My, my, where had that come from? It didn't look bad on him. He didn't need to wipe it away, but he did anyhow.
“You bit me,” he said, looking at the back of his hand.
“I'm sorry,” she panted. “Did it hurt?”
“No. But—”
“Kiss me again.”
“I can’t do it right now.”
“Yes.” She grabbed his head and pulled his lips on to hers. She sucked on them hungrily, and when he tried to pull away she didn't let him. The pleasure was exquisite, but the more she had, the more she wanted. They were sitting in a puddle of gasoline, but they were fanning the wrong kind of flames, the easy ones that did not require the courage to look death in the face.
This she knew. This she remembered.
Deep inside a warning bell finally went off. It told her that she was doing exactly what she had sworn that she would never do. But the bell could hardly compete with the pounding in her cranium. The bell was a drugstore-size alarm; the pounding was being rung by the hammer of Thor himself. Her need to feed drowned out everything else. She began to cry again even as she held on to him. She had told him to stay away. She had told him she just wanted to be friends. It was all his fault!
“Angie,” he cried as he burst from her grasp. He was breathing hard again; his eyes blinked rapidly. Half his face was smeared with blood. “What's wrong with you?” he demanded.
She spoke with feeling. “I just want you so much.”
He forced a smile. “I feel like you're trying to take advantage of me.”
She tried to smile. “I want to. I'm sorry.”
“You don't have to be sorry.”
“No?”
“No.” He brushed away a tear from her cheek. “You're scared, but everything's going to be all right. I'm going to take care of you.”
“Really?”
He grinned. “Really, A and W. There are no monsters.”
“Thank God.” She took his hands in hers and kissed them. Then she slipped her hands round the back of his neck, massaging him lightly at the base of the skull with her fingertips, relaxing him. Once more he closed his eyes. She didn't want him to open them again. She leaned forward and opened her mouth and kissed him once more, deeper than ever, so deep she felt she was inside him, a part of him, and that he was a part of her. Their two hearts beat inside each other in ecstasy. She wanted them to be that close. It was more than a physical thing; it was spiritual as well. It was meant to be; she could see that now. But she wasn't like the others, because she didn't want him to suffer. Not her dear Kevin. She just wanted to love him – to make him hers.
She tightened her grip on the back of his head.
“I love you, Kevin,” she whispered.
I will always lov
e you. For ever and ever.
She snapped his head round as hard as she could.
She heard the bones in his neck crack.
Not like at a chiropractic office, though.
Oh, no. Much louder cracks.
Kevin slumped in her arms.
He was no longer breathing hard. Not at all, really.
He was just asleep, she thought.
She brushed his hair from his face.
He could sleep as long as he liked.
She kissed his cheek. “Love you,” she said.
She opened her mouth and closed her eyes.
She started. Her mind left her.
It was a good thing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lieutenant Nguyen drove aimlessly around Balton. He knew what he had to do. He had to go to Angela's house and talk to her about Mary's story. Nguyen had a feeling Angela believed Mary's story now, and he also believed she had good reason to. He was almost ready to believe it himself. But Angela had told him to stay away from her. She had ordered him somehow, deep inside his brain. He felt compelled to speak with her, but he felt he'd be committing the worst mistake of his life if he got within ten miles of her.
He finally ended up stopping at Rest Lawn Cemetery, where Todd Green and Kathy Baker had been buried. It was close to eleven thirty, and naturally the place was locked up. But he kept a lock-pick kit in his car and could spring any common lock. Besides, if cops came by, he could just flash his badge and tell them he was on police business.
I'm interrogating the murder victims. They might have something to tell me, after all.
Actually, he had no idea why he was at the cemetery. But when the lock clicked open in his hands and the metal gate creaked as it swung clear of the entrance road, he felt a cold hand touch the base of his spine. He didn't want to be there any more than he wanted to be in the company of Angela Warner. He had seen many people die in life – hundreds. He had walked by the torn corpses of recent comrades after a VC rocket strike and not felt as nervous as he did right then. He stepped inside the cemetery, and the cold slowly travelled up his spine to the region of his heart. He couldn't be free of the memory of the green stuff that had grown out of the blood of those two teenagers. When he had first entered Jim Kline's house after the shootings last week he had been overwhelmed with sorrow. Now he wondered if he shouldn't have felt relief that those two were dead.
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