by Rice, Morgan
“Where is he?” Caitlin asked.
“That is for you to find out,” he said. “You are the one who carries the keys.”
“Who is he?” Caitlin asked, desperate to know.
Slowly, the man shook his head.
“I am merely a shepherd on the way.”
“But I don’t even know where to look!” Caitlin responded, desperate. “Please. I have to find him.”
The shepherd slowly broke into a smile.
“Always, the best place to look is right where you are,” he said.
And with that, he covered his head and turned and crossed the square. He passed through the arched gate, and a moment later, he was gone, his sheep following.
Always the best place to look is where you are.
His words rang through Caitlin’s mind. Somehow, she sensed it was more than just an allegory. The more she dwelled on it, the more she felt that it was literal. As if he were telling her there was a clue right here, where she was.
Caitlin suddenly turned and searched the well, the place they had been sitting. Now, she sensed something.
Always the best place to look is where you are.
She knelt down and ran her hands along the ancient, smooth stone wall. She felt all along it, feeling more and more certain that something was there. That she had been led to a clue.
“What are you doing?” Caleb asked.
Caitlin ignored him, searching frantically, scanning all the cracks of all the stones, feeling she was onto something.
Finally, halfway around the well, she stopped. She found one crack that was slightly larger than the others. Just large enough to get her finger in. The stone surrounding it was just slightly too smooth, and the crack was just slightly too big.
Caitlin reached in and pried it open. Soon, the stone began to wiggle, then to move. The stone came loose, out of the base of the well. Behind it, she was amazed to see, was a small hiding place.
Caleb came close, huddling over her shoulder, as she reached down into the darkness. She felt something cold and metal in her hand, and pulled it out slowly.
She raised her hand into the light, and slowly opened her palm.
She could not believe what was in it.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Scarlet stood there with Ruth, at the end of the dead end, her back to the wall, she watched in fear as the group of bullies set their dog loose on her. Moments later, the huge, wild dog was charging, snarling, aiming right for her throat. It was all happening so fast, Scarlet hardly knew what to do.
Before she could react, Ruth suddenly snarled and charged right for the dog. She leapt into the air and met the dog halfway, sinking her fangs into its throat. Ruth landed on top of her, pinning her to the ground. The dog must have been twice Ruth’s size, yet Ruth pinned her effortlessly, not letting her get up. She would not let go. She clamped her fangs down with all she had, and soon, the dog stopped struggling, dead.
“You little bitch!” screamed the lead boy, furious.
He burst out of the pack and charged right for Ruth. He raised a stick, sharpened at one end into a spear point, and brought it down right for Ruth’s exposed back.
Scarlet found her reflexes kicking in, her body taking over, and burst into action. Without even thinking she sprinted for the boy, reached up and caught his stick in midair, right before it hit Ruth. She then pulled him towards her, leaned back and kicked him hard in the ribs.
He keeled over, and she kicked him again, this time in the face with a roundhouse kick. He spun around and landed face-first on the stone.
Ruth turned and charged the group of boys. She leapt high in the air, and sank her fangs into one boy’s throat, pinning him to the ground.
That left only three of them.
Scarlet stood there, facing them, and suddenly, a new feeling overtook her. No longer did she feel afraid; no longer did she want to run from these boys; no longer did she want to cower and hide; no longer did she want the protection of her mommy and daddy.
Something snapped inside her. She crossed some sort of invisible line, some sort of tipping point. Instead, she felt, for the first time in her life, that she didn’t need anybody. All she needed was herself. Instead of fearing the moment, now, she relished it.
Scarlet felt herself infused with rage, rising from her toes, through her body, all the way to her scalp. It was an electric emotion that she didn’t understand, one she had never experienced before. She no longer wanted to run away from these boys. She didn’t want to let them get away, either. Now she wanted them all dead.
She wanted vengeance.
As the three boys stood there, mouths open, staring in shock, Scarlet charged. It all happened so fast, she could barely process it. Her reflexes were so much faster than theirs, it was as if they were moving in slow motion.
Scarlet leapt into the air, higher than she ever had, and kicked the boy in the center, planted her two feet on his chest. She sent him flying back, like a bullet across the alley, until he smashed into the wall and collapsed.
Before the other two could react, she wheeled and elbowed one in the face, then spun and kicked the other in the solar plexus. They both collapsed, unconscious.
Scarlet stood there, with Ruth, breathing hard. She looked around, and saw all five boys sprawled out around them, not moving. And then, she realized: she was the victor.
She was, she realized, no longer the Scarlet she once knew.
*
Scarlet roamed through the alleyways for hours, Ruth by her side, putting as much distance between herself and those boys as she could. She turned down alleyway after alleyway in the heat, getting lost in the maze of narrow side streets in the old city of Jerusalem. The midday sun beat down on her, and she was beginning to feel delirious from it; she was also feeling delirious from the lack of food and water. She could see Ruth panting hard beside her as they meandered through the crowds, could see that she was suffering, too.
A child passed by Ruth and grabbed her back, yanking on her playfully, but too hard. Ruth turned and snapped, snarling and bearing her fangs. The child screamed, cried, and ran away. It was unlike Ruth to behave this way; usually, she was so tolerant. But it seemed the heat and the hunger was getting to her, too. She was also channeling Scarlet’s own rage and frustration.
As much as she tried, Scarlet didn’t know how to turn off her residual feelings of rage. It was as if something inside her had been unleashed, and she couldn’t reign it back in. She felt her veins pumping, the anger pulsing, and as she passed vendor after vendor, displaying all manner of food that she and Ruth could not afford, her anger grew. She was also beginning to realize that what she was experiencing, her intense hunger pains, weren’t just typical hunger. It was something else, she realized. Something deeper, more primal. She didn’t just want food. She wanted blood. She needed to feed.
Scarlet didn’t know what was happening to her, and she didn’t know how to handle it. She smelled a hunk of meat and squeezed her way through the crowd, right up to it, staring. Ruth squeezed in, beside her. Scarlet elbowed way right to the front, and as she did, a resentful man in the crowd shoved her back.
“Hey girl, watch where you’re going!” he snapped.
Without even thinking, Scarlet turned and shoved the man. He was more than twice her size, but he went flying backwards, knocking over several fruit stands as he fell to the ground.
He scrambled to his feet, shocked, looking back at Scarlet, trying to figure out how such a small girl could overpower him like that. Then, with a look of fear, he wisely turned and hurried away.
The vendor scowled down at Scarlet, sensing trouble.
“You want meat?” he snapped. “You have money to pay for it?”
But Ruth couldn’t contain herself. She lunged forward, sunk her fangs into the huge slab of meat, tore off a hunk, and swallowed it down. Before anyone could react, she lunged forward again, aiming for another hunk.
This time, the vendor brought down his hand, as h
ard as he could, aiming to smack Ruth hard on the nose.
But Scarlet sensed it coming. In fact, something new was happening to her sense of speed, her sense of timing. As the vendor’s hand began to descend, Scarlet found her own hand shooting up, almost without her, grabbing the vendor’s wrist right before he hit Ruth.
The vendor looked down at Scarlet, wide-eyed, shocked that such a small girl could have such a strong grip. Indeed, Scarlet squeezed the man’s wrist, and tightened her grip until his entire arm started shaking. She found herself scowling back up at him, unable to control her rage.
“Don’t you dare touch my wolf,” Scarlet snarled back at the man.
“I’m…sorry,” the man said, arm shaking in pain, eyes wide with fear.
Finally, Scarlet released her grip, and hurried away from the stand, Ruth by her side. As she hurried to get as far away as she could, she could hear a whistling behind her, then frantic shouts for guards to come.
“Let’s go, Ruth,” Scarlet said, and the two of them hurried off down the alleyway, getting lost in the crowd. At least Ruth had eaten.
But Scarlet’s own hunger was overwhelming, and she didn’t know if she could contain it any longer. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but as they walked down street after street, she found herself examining people’s throats. She zoomed in on their veins, saw the blood pulsing. She found herself licking her lips, wanting—needing—to sink her teeth in. She craved the idea of drinking their blood, and found herself imagining what it would feel like when the blood poured down her throat. She didn’t understand. Was she even human anymore? Was she becoming a wild animal?
Scarlet didn’t want to hurt anyone. Rationally, she tried to think of something else, tried to stop herself.
But physically, something was taking over her. It was rising, from her toes, her legs, through her torso, to the crown of her head and to the tips of her fingers. It was a desire. An unstoppable, unquenchable desire. It was overwhelming her thoughts, telling her what to think, how to act.
Suddenly, Scarlet detected something: in the distance, somewhere behind her, a group of Roman soldiers were chasing after her. Her new, hyper-sensitive hearing alerted her to the sound of their sandals slapping on the stone. She already knew, somehow, that she was their target.
But the sound of their sandals slapping against the stone only irritated her further; the noise mingled in her head with the sound of the vendor’s screaming, the children laughing, the dogs barking…. It was all becoming too much for her. Her hearing was becoming too intense, and she was too annoyed by the cacophony of noise. The sun, too, was feeling stronger, feeling as if it were bearing down just on her, would tear her apart. It was all too much. She felt as if she were under the microscope of the world, and about to explode.
Suddenly, Scarlet leaned back, overflowing with rage, and felt a new sensation in her teeth. She felt her two incisor teeth expand, felt long, sharp fangs growing, protruding from them. She hardly knew what the feeling was, but she knew she was changing, into something she could hardly recognize or control. She suddenly spotted a large, fat, drunk man, stumbling through the alley, towards her. Scarlet couldn’t take one more step. She knew that she either had to feed, or to die herself. And something inside of her wanted to survive.
Scarlet heard herself snarling, then roaring, and was shocked. The noise, so primal, stunned even her. She felt as if she were outside her body as she pounced, leapt through the air, right for the man. She watched in slow motion as he turned to her, eyes open wide in fear. She felt her two front teeth sinking into his flesh, into the veins on his throat. And a moment later, she felt his hot blood pouring into her throat, filling her veins.
She heard the man scream, just for a moment. Because a second later, he was collapsed, on the ground, she on top of him, sucking out all of his blood. Slowly, she began to feel a new life, a new energy, infusing her body. She wanted to stop feeding, to let this man go.
But she couldn’t. She needed this. She needed to survive.
And from that moment on, Scarlet knew that life would never be the same.
CHAPTER SIX
Sam sprinted through the alleys of Jerusalem, snarling, red with rage. He wanted to destroy, to tear apart everything in sight. As he ran past a row of vendors, he reached out and swiped their booths, knocking them over like dominoes. He bumped people deliberately, as hard as he could, sending them flying every which way. He was like a wrecking ball, out of control, hurling down the alley, knocking over everything in his way.
Chaos ensued; cries rose up. People began to take notice and started to flee, to jump out of his way. He was like a freight train of destruction.
The sun was driving him crazy. It beat down on his head like a living thing, filling him with more and more rage. He had never known what true rage was until now. He wanted to tear apart everyone and everything in sight. Nothing seemed to satisfy him.
He saw a tall, thin man and he dove for him, sinking his fangs into his neck. He did this in a split second, sucking out the blood, then hurried on, sinking his fangs into another person’s neck. He went from person to person, sinking his fangs and sucking the blood. He moved so fast, none of them had time to react. They all slumped to the floor, one after the other, and he left a trail in his wake. He was in a feeding frenzy, and he felt his body begin to swell with their blood. Still, it was not enough.
The sun was driving him to the brink of insanity. He needed shade, and he needed it fast. He spotted a large building in the distance, a formal, elaborate palace, built of limestone, with pillars and huge arched doors. Without thinking, he burst across the square and charged it, kicking open the doors.
It was cooler in here, and finally, Sam could breathe again. Just getting the sun off his head made a difference. He was able to open his eyes, and slowly, they adjusted.
Staring back at Sam were the startled faces of dozens of people. Most sat inside small pools, individual baths, while others walked around, barefoot on the stone floor. They were all naked. That was when Sam realized: he was inside a bathhouse. A Roman bathhouse.
The ceilings were high and arched, letting in the light, and there were large arched columns all throughout. The floors were a shining marble, and small pools filled the vast room. People lazed about, apparently relaxing.
That is, until they saw Sam barge in. They quickly sat up, and their expressions morphed to shock, and fear.
Sam hated the sight of these people—these lazy, rich people, lounging about as if they hadn’t a care in the world. He would make them all pay. He threw his head back and roared.
Most of the crowd had the good sense to scurry out of there, to hurry to grab their towels and robes and to try to get out as soon as they could.
But they didn’t stand a chance. Sam hurled forward, lunged for the closest one, and sunk his teeth into her neck. He sucked the blood out and she collapsed to the ground and rolled into a bath, staining it red.
He did this again and again, jumping from one victim to the next, men and women alike. Soon the bathhouse filled with corpses, bodies floating everywhere, all the pools stained red.
There was a sudden crash at the door, and Sam wheeled to see what it was.
There, filling the doorway, were dozens of Roman soldiers. They wore official uniforms—short tunics, roman sandals, feathered helmets—and held shields and short swords. Several more held bows and arrows. They pulled them back and took aim at Sam.
“Stay where you are!” the leader yelled.
Sam snarled as he turned, rose to his full height, and began walking towards them.
The fire came. Dozens of arrows went hurling through the air, right for him. Sam could see them in slow motion, glistening, their silver arrows heading right for him.
But he was quicker than them, quicker even than their arrows. Before they could reach him, he was already high up in the air, leaping, flying, somersaulting over all of them. He easily covered the span of the entire room—forty feet—befor
e the archers even relaxed their hands.
Sam came down feet first, kicking the center one right in the chest with such force that he knocked back the whole crowd, like a row of dominoes. A dozen soldiers went down.
Before the others could react, Sam reached over and snatched two swords out of two soldier’s hands. He spun and slashed in every direction.
His aim was perfect. He chopped off head after head, then turned and jabbed survivors right through the heart. He cut through the crowd like butter. Within seconds, dozens of soldiers slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Sam dropped to his knees and sank his fangs into each one’s heart, drinking and drinking. He knelt there, on all fours, hunched over like a beast, gorging himself with blood, still trying to fulfill his rage, which was limitless.
Sam finished, but was still not satisfied. He felt as if he needed to battle entire armies, to kill masses of humanity at once. He needed to gorge for weeks. And even then, it wouldn’t be enough.
“SAMSON!” came a strange female voice.
Sam immediately stopped, frozen in his tracks. He hadn’t heard that voice in centuries. It was a voice he had almost forgotten, and one he had never expected to hear again.
Only one person in this world had ever called him Samson.
It was the voice of his maker.
There, standing over him, looking down, a smile on her gorgeous face, was Sam’s first true love.
There, was Samantha.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Caleb and Caleb flew together in the clear, blue desert sky, heading North over the land of Israel, towards the sea. Below them the land was spread out, and Caitlin watched the landscape change as they went. There were huge swaths of desert, vast stretches of sunbaked dirt, littered with rocks, boulders, mountains and caves. There were hardly any people, except for the occasional shepherd, dressed from head to toe in white, a hood covering his head to protect from the sun, his flock trailing not too far behind.
