After accepting this creature could return from the dead (which I had to considering it happened right in front of me), there was another thing I couldn’t explain—the willpower the Civatateo held over those it “turned.”
It must have started when it first bit Clark James back in Mexico. The actor couldn’t remember what happened. I realize now the Civatateo was able to cloud its victim’s mind when it wanted; it actually told me so at Meadowland as it cradled the newly turned Clark in its arms.
“He shall learn as it becomes necessary. As shall you.”
The Civatateo must have whispered its desires in the fevered Clark’s ears that night in the tent, which explained why the actor awoke the next morning begging me to take him to Palm Springs. It was all part of the creature’s plan, just as it had mapped out Clark’s death, subsequent return, and the part I was going to play.
I wish I could have stopped it right there. But I was in complete shock at what I had witnessed and knew no one would believe the truth. I was also absolutely terrified the creature would lash out at my slightest resistance and turn me into something destined for a slaughterhouse, like the bodies I’d seen in Mexico.
And of course, there was the temptation of what it was offering.
As the doctor who had successfully headed up Clark James’s recuperation from his death cot in the Mexican jungle, my career would suddenly be on the upswing. Before the appointment at Meadowland, that career was nonexistent; here was an opportunity to actually better myself.
That was how I ended up leading the press conference in the Meadowland lobby where Clark James said he was on the road to recovery and stunned the film world with his sudden retirement.
What else was Clark going to do? He looked stronger than ever, but unless his films only took place in the dead of night, it was going to be difficult for the “turned” actor to find a suitable project. He told the media after the disastrous crew deaths in Mexico, and Clark getting a second chance at life, it was time to step down with his legacy intact and spend time with his daughter before she headed off to college.
I spoke a little about his recovery, making things sound medical enough to satisfy the paparazzi and explain the life change Clark James was about to undergo. I knew he wasn’t going to be seen during the daytime anymore, not unless he wanted to immolate right in front of people, because that was the last piece of wisdom the Civatateo shared.
Eternal life was the gift, but sunlight the curse.
“Before he was turned and suffering from the after-effects of the bite, he became susceptible to the sun. A weakened state,” explained the Civatateo in the Meadowland room that night. “He might be stronger during the day now, but that doesn’t offer protection from the solar rays.”
The Civatateo indicated the bizarre motorcycle outfit that covered most of his body. “Even though this allows me to be in daylight for a short time, I run the risk of being exposed, so it is only under dire circumstances that I tempt fate.”
The creature said Clark would lead a similar life as long as he remained careful. And if I accepted the role of helping him, I would be substantially rewarded.
As I ended the press conference, telling the media Clark needed his rest, I knew I had been sucked in completely. In the literature of vampires, I guess I was what one would call “a familiar”—the mortal who aided and abetted his unholy master, allowing it to rest undisturbed during the threat of day and run rampant at night.
Things remained calm for the next few weeks. I worried someone would unearth the truth of Clark’s recovery or there would be vicious unexplained attacks in the streets of Palm Springs. Yet my concerns seemed to have been for naught. The retired actor settled into a life of quiet parties in the evening and lying low during the day. I began relishing my increasing responsibility at Meadowland and ability to do some good as a doctor. Most importantly, the Civatateo had disappeared. For a moment I thought my life might return to normal.
Then, the patients started to get sick.
11
Jess ditched them halfway to the sheriff’s station.
The plan was to pick up Benji’s car from the long-term parking lot and head over to the station, where they would convince Burke to make the trek with them to Palm Springs Country Club. Jess casually suggested Maria ride with Benji while he checked in with his mother. A few minutes later he lagged behind at a light, and once the Mustang turned a corner, he spun a U-turn.
He wasn’t happy about leaving Maria and Benji behind, but felt he had no choice. No amount of persuading would convince them he had to head to the country club alone. Armed with only the one remaining solar flash, which he had taken from Maria earlier that morning, he couldn’t afford the two of them confronting Clark defenselessly.
Jess figured he had maybe an hour head start before Maria and Benji reached Burke’s office and realized they had been tricked. By the time the cavalry arrived at the country club, Jess would either have seized his window of opportunity and rescued Harry or been hauled off to jail if he was wrong about Clark’s hideaway.
Jess didn’t even entertain the third possibility—that he would come out of the gorge on a coroner’s gurney or worse yet, “turned” like Clark James or his father.
This time, the guard at PSCC recognized Jess and his SUV. He waved him through and Jess quickly parked in the guest lot. He asked one of the employees where he could find the golf course superintendent. Jess was steered toward a small office near the pro shop where he had a five-minute conversation with Mort Lonnigan, the eternally tanned septuagenarian who had groomed the green fairways since the course was built decades before.
Lonnigan was surprised by Jess’s interest in the gorge. “Haven’t had to tend to it in at least a few years,” he said. “Once the bridge was put in, there was no need. Pretty much rocks and cacti below. There’s nothing for us to take care of nature won’t do. The golf architect liked how the course organically surrounded it. Worked out fine for me because I have my hands full just trying to keep the fairways green.”
“You’re doing an excellent job of it,” said Jess, figuring it couldn’t hurt to bolster the man’s ego. “When was the bridge put up?”
“Let’s see,” Lonnigan said, thinking back. “Maybe four or five years ago.”
That certainly fit, thought Jess.
“Did Clark James have anything to do with it?”
“Actually, he paid for it.” For the first time, Lonnigan gave Jess a suspicious look. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” Jess thanked him for his time and took off before Lonnigan could ask questions Jess didn’t feel like answering. Armed with new facts that fueled his supposition and filled him with dread, Jess headed down the path toward the driving range and the blood-red bridge that loomed beyond.
The drop to the desert floor was probably a good hundred feet. Once again, Jess recalled the day he found Harry standing precariously close to the edge. If his brother had taken one false step, no way he would have survived the fall. More than likely, he would have landed on the cragged rocks jutting out of the sand and cacti.
Jess couldn’t help but notice the landscape below was very similar to the field of glass in the Mexican jungle. He wasn’t all that surprised—the Civatateo was a creature of habit, so why not take shelter in a place that seemed like home?
At first, a descent into the gorge appeared impossible, especially if navigated by Clark James before the break of dawn, or for that matter, ascended shortly after the gleam of twilight. But Jess spotted a thin break between some rocks at the north end of the bridge. Moving closer, he saw a narrow path on the other side of the boulders, which he thought might have evolved from five years of steady traipsing by the Civatateo.
Jess waited for a couple of golf carts to pass over the bridge before he stepped between the rocks and trekked down the path. Just enough sunlight peeked through the rock clumps to light the way and the temperature dipped considerably as long as Jess was covered in shadow. Occasionally he spotted a
footprint in the dirt—sometimes more than one set, the second considerably smaller. Convinced the latter belonged to Harry, he could only imagine his baby brother being forced down the path by the turned actor. This thought propelled his descent even quicker, not wanting Harry to spend one more second than necessary with Clark James.
When he reached the desert floor, Jess was bathed in light as the rocks parted to let rays of sunshine pour through. Patches of red-tinted shadow from the bridge sporadically dotted the sand like scarlet clouds painted on a white canvas. Jess scoured the outcroppings of rock for an opening and finally found one at the northwest end of the gorge. He saw the two sets of footprints in the sand by the entrance and knew his hunch in Clark James’s backyard had been right.
With one last glance at the sun up high that could be his salvation or that he would never see again, he stepped through the opening in the rocks.
The minute he walked into the darkness, Jess smelled the familiar odor of musty iron. Once again he heard the faint sound of rushing water. He used the solar flash to navigate a tiny path and headed in the direction of the noise.
He had traveled about fifty feet when he heard the moans.
Jess kept a tighter rein on the flash’s spread of light as he moved forward. He was about to call out for Harry when he spotted the body on the ground.
The moan became a muffled scream when the solar flash darted across its prone legs.
Jess realized that it wasn’t Harry.
It was his father.
Walter, barely conscious on the cavern floor, rolled away from the solar beam that burned his outstretched leg.
Jess dropped to the ground and trained the solar light on the wall so the area was lit, but Walter could still remain in the shadows. He gingerly approached his fallen father, but made sure not to get too close.
“Dad?”
Walter was barely able to turn his head. Blood dripped from his neck, and even in the semi-darkness, Jess could see his skin was abnormally pale with practically an alabaster sheen to it. Obviously wounded, Walter looked even worse than the night he had died in his son’s arms.
He muttered something Jess couldn’t understand.
“What was that? Who did this?” Jess asked.
Walter started to crawl away on his belly farther from the light. Each movement produced another groan, but he kept at it. Jess pointed the light in the direction his father was moving.
The flash illuminated a trickling stream of blood at the base of the cavern wall.
In that moment, Jess understood, more than ever, the true horror of the fate that had befallen Walter, Tracy, and even Clark James.
The never-ending thirst.
Even on the brink of death, and in excruciating pain, the sole thing that mattered to Walter was sustenance—which could only come from blood.
It also explained the location Jess had tracked down. The golf course above had plenty of water from its man-made lakes. It would have been easy enough for Clark, with his riches and resources, to divert enough to this hidden cavern and prime it with blood to provide a food source for himself, just like the original Civatateo did in the Mexican jungle.
Suddenly, Jess felt something he never thought he would—sympathy for his father.
He moved over and grabbed hold of his father’s shoulders and gently pulled him closer to the stream. But the moment Walter started to lick up the blood, Jess backed away, alternately repulsed and tortured by his father’s plight. Jess forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Dad. Where’s Harry? Is he down here?”
At first he didn’t think Walter heard him. But finally, his father turned to look back at his son. His mouth was filled with blood, and he was still weak. Walter motioned with his head toward the deeper part of the cavern.
Jess grabbed the solar flash and started moving. His father made the same guttural noise as before. Jess was able to make out the garbled words this time.
“Clark,” muttered Walter with gasps of breath. “Kill him.”
Jess didn’t respond. But he knew that he would do just that if left with no other choice. Walter lowered his mouth back into the stream. The horrendous suckling sound began anew and Jess turned away.
He descended into the darkness.
He used the flash sparingly, just enough to avoid bumping into anything. Again, he found scattered bones and understood they must have been either vagrants or unaccounted-for senior citizens that Clark James used to replenish the underground stream of blood.
Up ahead, there was a faint gloaming; Jess clicked off the flash. He knew he must have been entering the cavern’s innermost chamber, most likely where Clark James and now Walter Stark evidently retreated each morning. Keeping a death grip on the flashlight, he rounded a piece of jagged stone and found himself staring at a lantern-lit blood-red pond, maybe half the size of the one in Mexico.
But his attention was drawn to the figure leaning up against the wall ten feet from the lamp.
His eyes were open, but Harry’s body was motionless.
Jess raced over and lowered himself so he was eye-level with his brother. Relief immediately washed over Jess upon hearing a soft but steady intake and exhale of breath, but the boy appeared catatonic. Jess leaned closer to try and shake him awake.
“You should have stuck with the arrangement.”
Jess turned around to find the risen-from-the-dead actor looming above.
Clark James’s bloody lips curled in a smile, revealing sharp teeth.
12
Jess flicked on the solar flash and aimed it at Clark James.
The beam swiped across his face like a laser, lacerating his right cheek and jawbone. Blood spurted forth and the Clark-thing howled, bringing his hand up to his face that was already smoldering. Jess darted the flash across the actor’s chest and his clothes began to burn. James screamed, frantically patting and clawing at his body to tamp down the flames. Jess pointed the beam at Clark’s head but the monster darted out of the way, its feral roar echoing through the cavern.
For a moment, he lost Clark James in the darkness. Jess, his hand shaking, aimed the flash in every direction and caught Clark just as he lunged from the right side. The beam landed on the vampire’s right arm and sent it bursting into flames. This time, Jess screamed, bombarding the recoiling creature with blasts from the solar flash as if firing at mechanical ducks in a shooting gallery. He missed more often than not, but enough hit home to set the better part of James’s torso on fire.
The flames made it easier for Jess to focus on a target. A little surer of himself, he went for the stumbling Clark’s head and waved the beam across his ear. Clark screamed in agony, turned away, and began to run. Jess was caught by surprise and by the time he gave chase, the burning man launched himself through the air and into the blood-red pond.
Jess trained the solar flash on the pond, searching for the thing that had once been Clark James. The only sign was billowing black smoke where he had disappeared below the surface. Jess’s heart pounded in his chest, his heavy gasping breaths echoed throughout the chamber. He stood at the scarlet water’s edge, waiting for the vampire to reemerge, but the surface only grew calmer and the smoke began to dissipate.
Finally, able to catch his breath, Jess raced back to Harry, who was still leaning against the wall in a catatonic state. He tried to rouse his brother with a bit of shaking and prodding.
“C’mon, Harry. Snap out of it.”
There was no response. Not wanting to spend one more moment than necessary in the cavern, Jess hoisted Harry up and over his shoulder. The boy was total dead weight and Jess didn’t even want to consider how he had gotten that way. They just needed to get the hell out of there.
It wasn’t easy going. Harry wasn’t the eight-year-old kid he had left behind years before. He wasn’t overweight by any means, but the fireman’s carry utilized the better part of both his arms and hands, so Jess had trouble navigating the path because he wasn’t dexterous
enough with the solar flash. And it was just damn dark. Jess would have difficulty finding his way back with the use of both hands and a trail of breadcrumbs marking the way.
Harry didn’t moan, speak, or even mumble as Jess hurried along. At one point, the boy’s face brushed up against a low-hanging rock Jess couldn’t see. His brother didn’t even cry out. At least he could feel Harry’s breath on his back and was just thankful to bring him out alive.
For the moment, that was the only goal—getting Harry home in one piece. Jess would deal with everything else later.
The journey back through the cavern seemed infinitely longer than the descent. For a moment, Jess thought he had lost his way, but then recognized the skeletal remains he’d seen on the way down, which confirmed he was on the right track.
Finally, in the distance, Jess could see a sprinkle of light and knew it was the cavern entrance. Using that as a focal point, he picked up the pace and raced toward it.
He was maybe fifty feet away and thinking they were home free when he tripped.
Jess crashed to the ground. Harry tumbled out of his arms and actually cried out when he hit the floor. The solar flash skittered out of Jess’s hand.
There was a groan just off to his right as Jess realized he had stumbled over Walter.
In his determination to rescue Harry, Jess had forgotten about his father. He couldn’t fathom what to do about Walter. First he had to get Harry out of the cavern and into the sunlight where he would be safe. One side of Jess’s head was throbbing; he had taken a good hit when he fell, and was having a hard time getting oriented.
His initial instinct was to search for the solar flash, but it had rolled into the darkness and Jess feared it might take forever to find it. There was just enough light from the entrance to see where Harry lay crumpled on the ground and Jess crawled over toward him.
Haul his butt out of here and deal later. The mantra ran through Jess’s head as he put his arms around his baby brother. Jess was on his knees trying to lift Harry when a monstrous roar filled the cavern.
Descending Son Page 33
