Long Dark Night

by Janci Patterson

The elevator and the stairs were probably close together. I moved toward the elevator, dodging left and right down corridors as the stiffs moved past me. I smiled. They couldn’t all be able to sense me, because if they could, they wouldn’t have walked by.

  As I reached the elevator doors, I could feel a corpse rising from below me. His legs weren’t moving, but he sped upward at a steady pace, so he had to be inside the elevator. If he could sense me, he’d find me in moments. If he couldn’t, I had a few minutes at most.

  That’s when I felt another corpse descending, down a corridor to my left. In my mind’s eye, the fine white mist spidered over him like a net of interconnected webs. His legs pumped as he went, as if walking down stairs. I sprinted down the corridor, moving past the descending corpse and ducking around two corners.

  The corpse hit my level, and I heard a door swing open and then slam. He moved toward me for a moment, but then turned away. The corpse on the elevator had arrived as well, which meant I’d only have a few seconds when my path was clear.

  I ran. The door to the stairs wasn’t labeled, but I found it easily enough. I swung it open and then closed it behind me. The door didn’t lock. All I could do was run.

  I pounded up the stairs. How many floors had we descended? Four? Five? If the corpses could sense me they’d have been on me by now. Did that mean I was special somehow?

  Maybe Vance knew. That might be why he’d gone to so much trouble to keep me—and serving-size portions of my brain.

  My undead muscles didn’t hurt, nor did they grow tired, though my breathing picked up speed out of habit. I ran up and up, until I could see the stairs ending above me. I paused by the last door.

  Several corpses had hit the stairs below me; I could hear them as well as sense them. But the other side of the door felt clear. I pushed it open.

  The door opened into a hallway next to an elevator. I punched a button, and the doors slid open to reveal a cargo elevator—not the same elevator I’d descended with Vance. This one, too, had blank buttons, without numbers. It might take me anywhere. But if I turned around, there was no guarantee I’d be able to find another staircase before the corpses caught me. I stepped in.

  In the other elevator, Vance had pressed a button lower on the pad to take us down into the compound. I pressed the highest button on this pad. This elevator would be separate from the hospital to keep people from discovering it, so the top floor was probably the ground floor. Unless Vance expected lots of escapees to make it to the elevator, he probably hadn’t mixed the buttons up.

  The elevator moved silently upward, and I breathed a bit easier for a moment. Then I realized I could feel Vance’s corpses gathering at the bottom of the elevator shaft. They must know where I was, either from the elevator movements or because Vance was still close enough to clue them in. They might be able to alert others upstairs of my whereabouts. Given enough time, they could cut the power to the elevator and trap me in here, or get to the elevator controls and turn it around.

  The elevator coasted to a smooth stop. I pressed myself into a corner, bracing myself. But a door opened behind me, opposite the wall where I’d come in. I stumbled out backward, and the doors closed again.

  With the doors went the lights. Putting my arms out to my sides, I could feel shelves lined with plastic packages. I had to be in some kind of supply closet, probably inside the hospital. I inhaled deeply. If there was blood in here, it was sealed up tight. I couldn’t smell it.

  As I turned around, I could see a thin crack of light in the shape of a door on the opposite wall. Hopefully it wouldn’t be locked from the outside. I edged around the shelves, feeling with my arms and legs to avoid tripping over anything or making much noise. I shuffled along the wall, edging my way around a stack of cardboard boxes. Five paces or so later, I came to the door.

  My hand rested on the handle. Yards away, on level with me, I could feel a corpse coming toward me. The corpses below me were mostly out of range now. I could sense a vague presence of undeath below me, but no individual corpses. A few more seconds and the elevator would reach them below, and they’d be on their way up to me.

  I turned the handle ever so slightly. It wasn’t locked. Below me, I could feel the corpses stepping into the elevator—it had reached them, and in moments, they’d be on me.

  I had to get out of here. But that corpse outside was coming ever closer. If he knew where I was, I’d be caught between him and the group in the elevator. I’d have nowhere else to run.

  Please, I thought. Stop. Lose me. Look somewhere else. I wished for anything—a barrier, a fluke, a miracle. Anything that would keep him from catching me before I got to the outside.

  Just stop.

  The corpse stopped just around the corner. He might be waiting to ambush me when the corpses behind me flushed me out. The shimmery outline of him seemed to smooth and harden a bit, like the dew drops of his outline were blending together.

  What was he doing? Could he use some power to find me?

  This was my only chance to run for it. Once the elevator opened behind me, it was over. So I shoved the door open and stepped into the hall. I glanced in the direction of the waiting corpse, but he stayed around the corner and out of sight. He stood still, looking ahead, but not exactly at me.

  I closed the door behind me, though there wasn’t a lock. Let the elevator corpses stumble around in the dark for a minute. I needed the head start.

  I moved down the hallway, away from the still corpse. I couldn’t run—not without drawing attention to myself—so I walked quickly and with purpose.

  A couple stepped into the hallway ahead of me. They were older—maybe sixty or seventy. They barely looked at me as I breezed by, cutting through a narrower hallway and into another major one.

  I passed waiting rooms on either side. Far behind me, I could feel the corpses stepping out of the closet and fanning out, searching the halls for me. They moved like they didn’t know where I was. If I kept moving, I could get away.

  I smelled the blood on the cart as I approached it. It had the cool tang of refrigerated blood, not the hot spice of blood still in the human. It smelled a bit stale, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky. On top of the cart was a white plastic box, and as I got closer, I could see pints in there, inside a clear, plastic wrapper.

  This might be my only chance. I looked quickly over my shoulder, but no one was behind me. Ahead I could see several people sitting in a waiting room, but none of them were paying attention to me.

  I walked as close to the cart as possible—so close I almost ran into it. In one fluid motion, I reached my hand in and grabbed a pint, then eased it into my pocket and pulled my shirt down over it. The plastic bulged against my hip, but I kept walking, as if nothing had happened.

  No one shouted; no one ran after me. I needed more blood, but without time to stop and find something like a purse or a tote bag, I couldn’t carry more without becoming suspicious. And if I stopped for that long, I’d be giving the corpses behind me more time to catch up.

  I reached the waiting room. A man sat with his head on his arms, like he was trying to fall asleep. A few chairs away from them, a woman read to a little girl out of a copy of Highlights magazine.

  Through the glass doors, I could see the bright lights in the dark parking lot. I moved out through the emergency doors, putting a large van between me and the pursuing corpses. They were far enough back now that I couldn’t make them out individually anymore. Out of the hospital now, I broke into a run down the street. The bag of blood sloshed in my pocket. I kept going.

  This was another perk of my undead flesh—I could run forever and never get tired. I kept going for several blocks, cutting over to back streets without stoplights or crosswalks. I couldn’t feel any stiffs around me, but I kept running anyway, until I was afraid the bag in my pocket might break from the strain.

  I ran my fingers over the top of it. The first twelve hours would go by quick. After that, I’d be on my own for blood. Maybe I
could break into a Red Cross and get enough to make it through the rest of the week.

  Who was I kidding? I’d never broken in to anything in my life. I’d probably end up on one of those TV shows about stupid criminals, the kind who practically caught themselves.

  I had to find Jack. Zeke told me to go to him if his plan to get me out of the country failed, so maybe Jack had some plan for feeding me, as well as for getting me out.

  Six

  I moved through the downtown streets quickly, with my head down. Jack worked evenings, so I’d try him there first. One of the benefits of being undead while homeless was that I didn’t need to worry about where I was going to sleep. The drawback, of course, was that I’d need shelter when the sun came up. I had to find him before then.

  A lot of corpses liked cities with subway systems—get a transit pass and there’s always somewhere to be during the daytime. That might have been what attracted Zeke’s friends to Paris in the first place. That, and according to Zeke it was out of Vance’s reach. It wasn’t going to help me today—public transportation in Salt Lake was strictly above-ground.

  But I needed to focus on what I had, not what I lacked. I checked my pockets, but they were empty—even my fake April Fenix ID had been in the blood-soaked clothes.

  I felt movement at the edge of my senses—a corpse lurking a couple streets over. I froze, trying to sense what direction it was moving. It wasn’t making a beeline for me, but it was coming closer. As it did, I could feel the outline of the form shaping up. It was overweight, and it was a woman.

  Vance’s personal entourage was all male, so this probably wasn’t one of his. Still, I needed to get off the street, away from places Vance might be able to grab me quickly. Most of the stores were closing for the night. I walked away from the oncoming corpse. The store where Jack worked was only a few blocks away.

  I hurried down the block. Jack’s store, Castle Keep, had a red and black poster in the window, featuring a pale woman with her face hidden by her hair, and blood splattered across her neck. Vampire, it said, in dripping red letters. Zeke used to roll his eyes at it. The legends were so corrupted they were almost unrecognizable. As far as I could tell, there was nothing romantic or sexy about being a corpse.

  The game store had been Zeke’s last link to humanity. He and his buddies would stay there late into the night, talking through adventures and rolling dice to determine if they could beat up werewolves and other monsters. After Vance turned him, he’d dropped out of his regular games, but he still stopped by the store now and then, even though he never let me connect to my old life like that. Too dangerous, he said. And he wasn’t wrong.

  I jaywalked. Zeke used to play there late into the night, so they should still be open. I stepped inside. The store was near-vacant, and a guy I didn’t recognize stood behind the counter. He had a comic book spread open on the counter, his curly hair pulled back in a low ponytail.

  A little bell rang over my head, and the guy looked up. “Hey,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Jack here?” I asked.

  The guy shook his head. “He works mornings now. We switched last week.”

  I looked at the sign on the door, listing their hours. “You open at noon.”

  “Mornings are relative.”

  I couldn’t come in at noon, even if I wanted to wait that long. But Zeke had made me memorize the way to Jack’s house, in case I ever needed to know where it was. I wondered if Jack knew about that, or if I’d be showing up cold on his doorstep. He’d probably recognize me from the times that I’d been to the store, but we weren’t exactly the kind of friends who might show up unannounced.

  That corpse down the block was moving toward us now. She walked slowly, like she didn’t have anywhere to be. I needed to get out of here anyway. I was still too close to the hospital.

  “Does he still live in the same place?” I asked.

  “He lives with his mom,” the guy said. “That’s all I know. Are you a friend of his?”

  “My brother was,” I said. “Thanks.” And then I ducked out the door before he could ask more questions.

  I’d run most of the way to Jack’s house when it started to snow. The flakes melted as they hit the sidewalk, creating a slick, slushy paste. I skidded twice on my heels before I slowed to a walk.

  Jack’s mom’s house was down a long, narrow street in Sugarhouse. The neighborhood had obviously been built before everyone owned cars, because with one vehicle parked on one side of the street and another parked on the other, there was hardly enough space for a moving car to squeeze between them, let alone allow for passing. The neighbors must have managed okay, though, because none of the roads were labeled one-way.

  The house was in the center of the street, three houses down from the one with thirteen wind chimes in the front yard. I was glad those were still there, or I might not have been able to find it.

  The house was dark, but there was a car in the driveway—a beat up old station wagon that I hoped was Jack’s and not his mom’s. The lights were on in several of the houses around me, so it must not be that late yet—maybe ten or ten-thirty. That was too late for visiting, but not so late that Jack was likely to be asleep.

  I banged on the front door twice. No one answered. Snowflakes sifted through the enormous tree in Jack’s front yard and landed on my skin. A few of them melted there, but others formed a slush, building up on my arms the way they had on the sidewalk. I brushed them off.

  A flicker caught my eye in a basement window, blue light wavering behind the blinds. A lot of these old houses had basement apartments, and if Jack lived with his mom, he might be in one of those. I walked around the driveway on the side of the house, searching for stairs leading to a lower door, but I didn’t find one. I tried the front door again, but still no one answered. The flickering continued.

  I ran my fingers along the top of the plastic bag at my hip. I probably had a few hours left before my need to eat became urgent. Better to wait until after I talked to Jack than to get caught skulking on the side of his house with a mouthful of blood. I squatted down next to the window well and rapped on the glass. I waited for someone to peek out through the blinds. If it wasn’t Jack, I could always run away. The worst that would happen was that I’d scare his mom.

  Someone moved inside. I went back to the door, and when it opened, Jack leaned in the darkened doorway, his black hair falling into his eyes.

  He blinked at me. “April?” he asked.

  I was surprised he remembered my name. Zeke had brought me into the store with him a couple of times, and I’d hung out and read comic books while he and Jack played a game. I’d caught Jack watching me a number of times, but I didn’t talk to him, and he didn’t talk to me. Zeke had introduced me as his sister when the question came up; it softened the stigma of a teenage girl living with a twenty-something guy.

  “Hey,” I said. “I knocked on the door a few times, but no one answered.”

  He looked behind me, probably searching for Zeke. “I had the TV on downstairs. I guess I couldn’t hear it.”

  “Right. That’s why I tried the window. I guess your mom’s not here either?”

  “No,” Jack said. “She’s in Virginia, visiting my aunt.”

  That was good. The fewer people I endangered, the better.

  Jack looked confused. “What are you doing here? Where’s Zeke?”

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  Jack gripped the doorframe. “What?”

  I wanted to stuff the words back into my mouth. Jack wasn’t just my means to survive. He was a person who’d lost his friend. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No, no,” Jack said. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t seen him for a while, but I just switched to days at work. What happened?”

  Zeke had never told me what I was supposed to say when I went to Jack for help. Did Jack know anything about Vance? “It was sudden,” I said. “But Zeke said that if anything ever happened to him, that I should come find you. I ne
ed to get out of town.”

  “Slow down,” Jack said. “Come in and explain.”

  Jack stepped aside so that I could move through the door. I didn’t need his permission, except for courtesy. I think people made up that vampire legend to feel safer at home.

  I had already walked in before it occurred to me that it might be a trap. But Jack flipped on the lights, illuminating a clean, but cluttered house. Knick-knacks, papers, and picture frames covered every available surface. Most of the pictures were of Jack at varying ages, all with the same shaggy hair falling into his eyes.

  “Have you always had the same haircut?” I asked.

  Jack smiled. “It’s a real winner, isn’t it?”

  He watched me for a response, but I just shrugged.

  “I’m kidding. Tell me about Zeke. Was he sick?”

  “No,” I said. “This guy killed him.”

  Jack’s jaw actually fell open. “Like murder?” He closed the door behind us and then leaned against it, blocking the exit.

  I checked the other doors. I could move into the kitchen from here, or down a narrow hall. But I knew from walking around the house that there wasn’t a way out over there. “I guess so.”

  Jack stepped toward me, abandoning his post at the door. I flinched and he froze: it was only then that it occurred to me that he might not have been blocking me in on purpose. He stooped his head a little to look me in the eye. “Are you okay?”

  I must look like a crazy person, searching for an escape route. “Not really,” I said.

  “Look, sit down,” Jack said. He moved aside some cross-stitched pillows and a batch of junk mail. “Have you talked to the police?”

  I sat on the very edge of the cushion, leaning most of my weight on my feet. Jack moved a newspaper off of an armchair across from me and sat down leaning toward me. “No,” I said. “No one else even knows he’s dead.”

  Jack drew a slow breath. I really should have come up with a better story, or refused to tell him anything, because trying to understand my story must have been like trying to put together one of those mystery jigsaw puzzles my mom used to do—the kind where they didn’t give you a copy of the picture ahead of time. Only for Jack, a lot of the pieces were also missing.