This time the pause was so long that I was afraid he hadn’t heard me, and was opening my mouth to repeat the question when he finally said, ‘Well … in that case we’ll have to start watching the news, I suppose.’
‘You don’t think he might go back to Wolgaroo Corner?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘He could sleep in one of those underground tanks, but what would he do about shopping?’ I was intrigued despite myself. The notion of an outback vampire wasn’t entirely implausible; I had a sudden mental picture of Dermid driving around the desert plains at night, setting traps for kangaroos and ordering his supplies over the Internet. But of course he wouldn’t feel well enough to go trap-setting a lot of the time. And he wouldn’t restrict himself to kangaroos, either – not unless he had some kind of emotional support. He would start to prey on campers, and shearers, and stranded motorists.
He’d start arousing suspicions soon enough.
‘I’m going to call Dave,’ Sanford remarked, interrupting my train of thought. ‘Keep me posted, all right?’
‘All right.’
‘You might want to alert Bridget, as well. She’d probably like to know what’s going on,’ Sanford concluded. Then he abruptly broke the connection.
I was about to dial Bridget’s number when Reuben said ‘Nina!’ in a strangely high-pitched voice. Turning, I saw that he had opened a tin of baked beans, and was standing at the sink with the tin in one hand and a plate in the other. But he set down his plate with a rap.
‘Look,’ he croaked, pointing out the kitchen window. I looked – then gasped.
Dermid McKinnon was tottering through the back gate, dragging Nefley Irving along with him.
28
I’d been right, you see. Nefley had gone to retrieve his car. He didn’t have any friends who could fetch it for him, so he’d caught a cab to Dave’s house, then driven his own vehicle back to Parramatta with one arm in a sling.
It hadn’t been easy. He’d been forced to stop once or twice when his nerves had failed him. But he’d managed the journey somehow, despite his handicap. And he hadn’t caused any accidents along the way.
Unfortunately, however, his good luck hadn’t lasted. Upon arriving home, he’d pulled up in front of his garage, heaved himself out of his car, and hobbled across a crumbling stretch of asphalt to push open the roller door. He hadn’t seen the shadowy figure lurking nearby. And since he’d left his pistol on the front passenger seat (in plain view of anyone with highly developed night-vision), he’d soon found himself being compelled – at gunpoint – to drive Dermid McKinnon back to my mum’s place.
Don’t ask me what Dermid’s motives were. Having lost his ute, he certainly needed transport. But I still don’t understand why he suddenly felt the need to rescue his father. Was it guilt? Or fear? Or something to do with money? Perhaps there wasn’t any logic to it at all; he certainly wasn’t making much sense when he yelled at me through Mum’s kitchen window.
‘You let go of my dad right now, or I’ll blow your friend away!’ he screamed.
It was an odd sort of threat, because Nefley was no friend of mine. We hadn’t even been formally introduced. I recognised him, of course, despite the fact that his purple, sweat-soaked, badly illumined face was contorted with fear. I also felt sorry for him – as I would have felt sorry for anyone trapped in a headlock, with a pistol jammed against his skull. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel like hurling myself out the door to save him.
If he had been Mum, or Dave, or Father Ramon, it would have been different. But Nefley?
‘Oh, shit,’ Reuben hissed, out of the corner of his mouth. He cut a glance at the table.
‘Don’t move,’ I warned.
‘Get Dad!’ Dermid was still yelling, his bulging, bloodshot eyes just centimetres from the glass. ‘Bring him out here! Now!’
‘You go up,’ said Reuben, under his breath.
‘No. You,’ I replied.
‘Nina—’
‘He can’t kill me. He can’t infect me, either.’
‘But—’
‘Call Dave. Go now.’ Raising my voice – and my hands – I addressed Dermid. ‘He’s just going to get your dad! Okay? Your dad’s upstairs. Can you hear me?’ As Reuben started to back away, I added (with more than a trace of anxiety), ‘Maybe you should come inside, eh? Before our neighbours call the police?’
‘DON’T TOUCH THAT!’ Dermid’s hand jerked, and suddenly his gun was aimed at the window. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Reuben had been edging closer to the rifle.
‘Leave it!’ I snarled. ‘Get going!’
Reuben hesitated.
‘We’re sitting ducks, you moron!’ I shrilled, and the insult seemed to shock Reuben into a state of heightened awareness. His gaze flitted across the wide expanse of glazing in front of us; he must have realised that we were silhouetted against the light, as vulnerable and exposed as goldfish in a bowl. At any rate, he abandoned any notions that he might have entertained concerning the rifle. Instead he made for the stairs, his chiselled features drawn tight with tension, his green eyes blazing.
‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Just … just be careful, okay?’
‘I know.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
Before I could thank him (through clenched teeth) for this vote of confidence, he had disappeared – leaving me all alone in the kitchen. For a few seconds I simply stood there with my hands up and my heart pounding. Then it occurred to me that Dermid didn’t look well. Though he’d clearly recovered a lot of his strength, he wasn’t by any means a raging bundle of energy. And it crossed my mind that fresh human blood might not have quite the same explosive impact on a half-formed vampire as it has on someone who’s already undergone a full transformation.
I began to move sideways, very slowly and carefully.
‘Do you want to come in?’ I asked Dermid, trying to project my voice through the glass. ‘There’s only me in here now!’
Dermid shook his head. Though his tattooed arms were still brown and muscular against the grubby pallor of his T-shirt – though his scarred cheeks were still plump and his hair hadn’t lost its gleam – the infection had already left its mark on him. I could see traces of it in his yellowing irises, and his pinprick pupils. His mucus membranes were turning a livid, unhealthy colour; dark patches were forming near the wound on his neck.
‘Don’t come any closer!’ he cried. ‘Or I’ll shoot your friend!’
‘He’s not my friend! He killed my friend!’ I was feeling safer, by this time, because Dermid had once more aimed his gun at Nefley – who whimpered as I inched my way towards the exit. ‘Listen, Dermid. We don’t want the police involved! Can you come inside? Before the neighbours get interested?’
‘You’d better not call the police!’ was Dermid’s strangled response. ‘You’d better not do that!’
‘Shh! Keep it down!’ I pushed open the back door, adjusting my volume as I did so. You might be wondering where I found the courage. You might be thinking: She’s just like Zadia Bloodstone. Well, you’d be wrong. Because I had already spotted something that told me exactly what I needed to know.
Most people would have missed it – I realise that. Most people don’t have my night-vision, and wouldn’t have seen Dermid swallowing, over and over and over again. But I saw it. And I understood what it meant.
Dermid was feeling bad. Really bad. He was on the verge of throwing up.
‘Just come inside and we’ll talk,’ I pleaded. ‘You’re confused because you’re sick—’
‘I’m not sick!’
‘Dermid—’
‘Stand back!’
‘Okay.’ I lifted my hands again, to show him that I didn’t mean any harm. ‘I’ve stopped. Don’t worry.’
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s coming. He’s sick, too.’ I took a deep breath, to steady myself. ‘Don’t you remember what you did to him?’
Dermid swallowed, three tim
es in succession. His eyes widened until they almost sprang from their sockets. His gun was beginning to shake.
But he didn’t speak. Perhaps he couldn’t speak.
‘You bit him, Dermid. You drank his blood.’ Ignoring Nefley’s groan, I pressed on, as quietly as possible. ‘Don’t you remember doing that? It happened just here, in the kitchen.’
Dermid made an odd noise. Then he said, ‘No.’
‘You’re a vampire now. Like me.’
‘Bullshit!’ Dermid’s grip on Nefley must have tightened, because Nefley coughed, turning an even darker shade of mauve as he pawed at the tattooed forearm that was pressed against his wind-pipe. Anxiously, I took note of the veins standing out on Nefley’s forehead. And I was about to suggest that Dermid ease up a little when the back gate squeaked.
Dave had arrived. He’d been summoned by my mother, and had parked in the alley behind the house.
George was with him.
‘Freeze!’ Dermid yelped, yanking Nefley around to face the newcomers. Dave froze. He stood quite still, his fingers clamped to the top of the gate.
In the dimness, his chalk-white complexion had an almost phosphorescent glow to it.
‘They’re not going to hurt you, Dermid,’ I said quickly. ‘They’re vampires. Like you are. We’re all in the same boat.’
‘Shut up! Shut up!’ Dermid’s voice cracked. All at once, the pistol was pointing straight at me. ‘You’re crazy! Where’s Dad? I’ll count to ten!’
‘He – he’s coming,’ I stammered, not even daring to glance around. It’s amazing how big a small hole can seem, when there’s a bullet somewhere down the other end of it. And though I knew that a shot to the head wouldn’t kill me, I also knew that life with half a brain would be more uncomfortable than ever.
‘Could you please just think about this? For one minute?’ I begged. ‘You were bitten by a vampire. You are a vampire.’
‘I am not!’
‘Nina, don’t.’ Dave’s frantic plea was almost unrecognisable; he sounded like Bridget, all breathy and high-pitched. ‘For God’s sake, be quiet!’
‘Hey, Dermid!’ someone barked. Dermid jumped, and I was lucky he didn’t shoot me. The gun-barrel wavered, then swung off to my left. When I looked in the same direction, I saw that Reuben had returned.
He’d entered the kitchen with my mother. She was wearing her nightgown. Between them they were supporting Barry McKinnon, whose arms were draped around their necks, and whose feet were dragging.
Dermid stared at his father through the kitchen window, in a kind of horrified bewilderment.
‘You see?’ I whimpered. ‘Your dad’s sick. You bit him. He’s going to need help, all right, but not your kind of help, Dermid. We’re the only ones who can help him, now.’
‘It’s finished!’ Reuben declared loudly, with far too much relish. ‘You! Him! The whole damn deal! You’re done and dusted, mate!’
‘Shut up!’ snapped Mum, who looked about a hundred years old. Reuben actually flinched away from her glare, which could have stripped the paint off wood, like a blowtorch.
Dermid licked his dry lips. He staggered slightly, turning pale beneath his tan.
‘Actually, you’re not finished,’ I assured him, with as much certainty as I could muster. ‘Being a vampire doesn’t mean that you’re finished. I used to think so myself, but I don’t any more.’ Though I was talking simply to keep him occupied – to stop him from forming any kind of firm resolution – I was also speaking straight from the heart. ‘You can still live like a human being, even if you are a vampire,’ I continued. ‘Even if it is a lot harder to be energetic, and excited, and involved, it can still be done. I’ve seen it done.’ Glimpsing a peripheral movement, I realised that Dave was creeping forward, and surreptitiously flapped my hand to make him stop. ‘It’s an infection – that’s all. You can rise above it, like Dave has. You wouldn’t think that Dave was a vampire. He’s just like a normal person, except that he can’t go out in the sun these days.’
‘Dad? Can you hear me? Are you all right?’ Dermid bellowed. His gun was trained on my head once more, though his aim was far from steady.
‘You’ve run out of options, arsehole!’ Reuben’s delivery was sharp and fierce and high-pitched. ‘Forrest Darwell’s in the clink by now! So’s your truck! We faked a meeting – tipped off the police! You can say goodbye to your hundred grand!’
‘Reuben, shut up! You’re just confusing him!’ I could see that Dermid was in no condition to absorb complex ultimatums; he was too fuddled and frightened to think in a logical way. ‘You don’t have to worry, Dermid. We’ll find somewhere for you to go – you and your dad. We have to. Because you’re one of us, now, and we always help each other.’
Then – without warning – Dermid threw up.
There was a retching gasp as his head snapped forward. Suddenly my shoes were covered in tar-black vomit. At the same instant he relaxed his hold on Nefley, who broke free with a tortured howl. Reuben and Dave dashed towards me, one from each side. Though still doubled over, Dermid began to wave his gun about, wildly.
He pulled the trigger when I caught his arm.
Click.
Mum screamed. Dermid fell to his knees, gagging. I wrenched the gun from him, holding it aloft as I retreated. Though quick, however, I was barely quick enough. Reuben rushed through the back door, jumping on Dermid with such an excess of energy that he almost knocked me off my feet.
‘You didn’t load it?’ I asked Nefley, who was cowering nearby.
Before he could answer, I was engulfed in a bear hug. While Mum struggled with Barry’s dead weight, and Reuben pinned Dermid to the ground, and George stood slack-jawed and goggle-eyed near the fence, I found my nose rammed against Dave’s chest.
‘Did you mean it?’ he said hoarsely.
‘What?’ I wasn’t processing questions; I was too busy trying to absorb what had just occurred. When I struggled to free myself, Dave’s hands dropped to my elbows. ‘I’m all right,’ I assured him. ‘There were no bullets in the gun.’
‘Did you mean it?’ His tone was urgent. ‘What you said? About being a vampire?’
You probably won’t believe this, but my mind was a blank. It was the shock, I expect. You don’t recover quickly from having a gun fired at you, even if it isn’t loaded.
I stared at the thing: it was heavy and dull in my hand.
‘What?’ I murmured. (What had I said?) ‘Could you remind me …?’
‘You said I’d risen above it. You said I wasn’t like a vampire.’
‘Oh.’ I could vaguely recall making some such comment – a very long time ago, it seemed. ‘Well, you aren’t,’ I confirmed. ‘I mean, you’re not like a typical vampire. You do things. You make a difference. You’re brave, and you care about stuff, like a regular guy.’ I glanced around, distracted by all the activity in our immediate neighbourhood. Reuben had Dermid in an armlock. Mum was yelling at George, telling him to come inside and call Sanford. Nefley was apologising tearfully to anyone who would listen. ‘Nefley,’ I said to him, ‘what’s wrong with you? The gun wasn’t loaded.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I forgot …’
‘You forgot?’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘That’s a pretty big thing to forget, don’t you think? You let Dermid drag you all the way here, and you forget that the gun has no bullets inside?’
‘I forgot to check! I thought maybe you’d loaded it!’
‘Why on earth would we have loaded it?’ I exclaimed. ‘We wouldn’t even know how!’
‘In that case,’ Reuben interrupted, from down on the ground, ‘you’d better make damn sure it’s empty.’ He stretched out a hand, reaching for the pistol; his other hand was clamped around Dermid’s wrist. ‘It might have been a misfire. There might still be bullets in the chamber.’
‘Really?’ This was alarming news. Hurriedly I relinquished the weapon. Though Reuben took it, however, he wasn’t able to inspect it without letting Dermid go.
/> Instead he gave it to my mother – who had abandoned Barry McKinnon, and was now hovering on the back steps.
She held the gun as if it were a dirty sock, dangling from her thumb and forefinger.
‘What the hell am I supposed to do with this?’ she said.
‘Just put it next to that rifle,’ Reuben advised, nodding towards the house. ‘That rifle in there is loaded, for sure.’
‘Nina?’ said Dave. His grasp tightened on my elbows when I didn’t immediately respond. ‘Nina!’
‘What?’ I was reluctant to drag my attention away from Barry, who was now lying flat on Mum’s linoleum. I could just see one of his legs if I craned my neck and peered through the back door. George was stepping over this leg on his way to the telephone. ‘What is it?’
‘Are you trying to say that you’ve changed your mind about vampires?’ Dave asked. ‘Are you telling me you don’t hate them any more?’
‘What do you mean? I never hated vampires. I just – I dunno, I just had this stupid idea that all vampires are a bunch of do-nothing losers. Which they aren’t.’ Speaking of losers, I thought, as my wandering gaze snagged on Nefley. He was standing there like a fence post, sweaty and moon-faced. ‘Hey, Nefley,’ I suggested, ‘why don’t you go and see if that pistol’s loaded? It would be really nice to know for certain.’
‘What?’ He blinked at me, before abruptly snapping out of his daze. ‘Oh! Yeah. Right,’ he said. Then he waddled inside, following my mother.
I could see them both quite clearly through the kitchen window, as the pistol passed from her custody to his. She must have said something to George, too; though I couldn’t hear exactly what she told him (not from where I was standing), I did observe the way George obediently surrendered the telephone, then crouched beside Barry McKinnon.
Clearly, Mum had decided to call Sanford herself – while George took Barry upstairs.
‘Right!’ Reuben gasped. He reared up suddenly, catching me by surprise. ‘What’ll we do with this one?’
‘Um …’ I gazed at Dermid, who seemed dizzy and disoriented. He was groaning softly, though I couldn’t tell you exactly what was troubling him. It might have been nausea, or despair, or simply the pain of Reuben’s armlock. Whatever the cause of his distress, however, it was certainly debilitating. He was barely able to stand up straight, and sagged against Reuben’s chest.
The Reformed Vampire Support Group Page 29
