by Lund, S. E.
“You sound like a fanatic. Do you really believe in evil as in the devil? Satan?”
Julien shakes his head. “Oh, most definitely. I saw evil the other night when Kael killed all those people. I saw evil when I watched Soren. He enjoyed it.”
We drive on for a while, me ruminating on the manuscript.
“What did Michel take out of the manuscript? What was so bad?”
He says nothing for a moment. “He did some bad things, Eve. We both did. Back then, it wasn’t always possible to find the dying and take them. We did kill.” He glances over at me. “Innocent people. A lot of them. I imagine he didn’t want you to read any of the more gory details or how much he seemed to love it.”
I find that hard to believe. Michel seemed to have such distaste for killing.
“Did he love it?” I ask, doubtful.
Julien nods. “He seemed to. He seemed to go all in while I was still struggling with it. Oh, I didn’t fight being a vampire, but I never loved it—not at first. Not until I grew immune to death. After a few centuries of killing to stay alive, you grow hardened to it. Especially as a warrior. I thought it would be harder for Michel to become used to hunting and killing, but it seemed easier. Maybe it was all the beatings.”
I make a face, immediately feeling sympathy for Michel. I don’t really care anymore what either of them did back when they were first vampires. I understand now what it means to have this never-ending and overwhelming hunger.
“Why is Soren letting us go?”
Julien sighs heavily. “Maybe he isn’t. Maybe Michel’s dead and Soren is waiting to strike. I always thought I’d know if he died, because we’re identical twins, but we haven’t always been close. I’ve given up trying to second-guess Soren. I have to fight. It’s what I know.”
I feel a stab of pain at the thought that Michel might be dead, knowing it might be true. I watch Julien, thinking about the valiant knight he was back when he was a mortal the first time, fighting to protect his family’s estates from the Church and dying for his father’s lands despite hating him. Now he’s willing to die for mortals in general to stop Dominion and Soren.
“My brave Julien,” I say and take his hand, my eyes brimming, “how I love you.”
He smiles and leans over to kiss me. “Not brave,” he says and winks at me. “Foolish, probably. Stubborn, no doubt. Unwilling to be Soren’s or Blackstone’s slave, most certainly.”
We drive on down the lonely road in silence. I’m lost in thought about the past and future and what we’ll find when we reach Fort Devens.
* * *
We stop just after midnight, traveling for hours after sunset, our path on the road illuminated by the full moon. The motel we choose is one of those single story white plaster buildings with a dozen shabby rooms that look like they haven’t been used for months. Dust is everywhere, but there are no bugs to be seen (it’s too damn cold), nor any running water. Julien opens a garage door at the back of the motel, which has a service station attached, and puts the horse and cart inside, feeding and watering the beast and covering it with the blanket so it’s warm enough.
We take the room closest to the garage. It’s a standard room with two double beds, a desk, an old television, and a small bathroom. It’s dilapidated due to the effects of the plague and anything with petroleum products has disintegrated, including the housing of the television, the phone, and some of the materials used in the bedding, the shower curtain, and the shampoo bottles. But it’s shelter from wind and not too cold.
We spread out our sleeping bags on top of the beds. I’m not willing to get under the covers, despite them looking relatively clean. We use some of the water from the barrel to wash up and each eat a can of cold beans. It’s not very appealing, but I’m hungry. I choke down the rest of the bottle of preserved blood and help tidy up. Julien checks once more on the horse and seeing that he’s okay, returns to the room.
I’ve finished washing up for the night with the cold water from the barrel, and am waiting to see how Julien plans to spend the night. Will we both sleep or will we take turns keeping watch? We have no lights, no heat, and light no fire, but someone could be watching us, ready to ambush us in the night.
“You get some sleep,” he says, coming to where I’m standing by the bed and pulling me into his arms. “I’ll take the first watch. Then you can get up and take the next. Four hours each. That will have to do because I want to get to the base before dusk.”
“Are you sure? I’m the one who can’t be killed. I’ll stay up and you can sleep. I can sleep in the cart during the day while you drive.”
He shakes his head and strokes my hair. “Nope. I’m wide awake for some reason. I couldn’t sleep now if I tried. You sleep. You’re still adjusting to this new life.”
I give in and kiss him briefly before crawling into the sleeping bag. Julien zips it up around me, tucking me in before kissing me once more, tenderly.
He goes to the window and cracks open the curtains, checking the street for any sign of movement on the road.
I close my eyes. It doesn’t take long before I doze off, snuggled down deep in my sleeping bag, Julien sitting by the window, his own sleeping bag draped over his shoulders.
* * *
The rest of the trip is much the same, with us traveling without stopping except to use the toilets at gas stations or houses that are abandoned and easy to reach from the road. We talk about France during the crusades, Julien’s early life as a knight, and his reasons for leaving the Church. I haven’t had this much time alone with Julien, just him and me, with a chance to talk—really talk about his life and his relationship with Michel—ever. It’s wonderful.
He loves Michel, that’s certain. They’re brothers who have survived together for eight hundred years. No matter how each has treated the other, there is a bond that events of the day cannot completely destroy. Michel has deceived Julien. Julien knows it or at least suspects as much, but I don’t say anything to him. He’s been compelled and probably wouldn’t hear what I said anyway.
* * *
After another day on the road, we arrive just outside Fort Devens an hour before sunset. We find a deserted house outside the base, with an old corrugated metal shed beside it where we can stable the horse.
We eat some more cold canned food; I have stew and Julien eats another can of beans. I’m eager to find a kettle and fire so I can have some hot food and especially some coffee or tea. Hopefully, Julien’s comrades will have some. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a cup of something hot to drink more than I do now.
“Who are we going the meet?” I ask as we pack up our things.
Julien unrolls a sleeping bag. “Some of my old army buddies.”
“Are they vampires?”
“Yes. They were in Blackstone’s program as well. Now they’re trying to fight him.”
“How do you know they’re not with him?”
He glances up at me, his expression serious. “Because they hate what he did to them as much as I do. We thought—we were told—that we were protecting the Treaty, not preparing to overthrow it. They want him stopped as much as I do.”
He says it with such conviction that I know he really believes it. It’s one of the things I love about Julien. He doesn’t lie or deceive. He tells the truth. He seems as if he can’t lie, unlike his brother, to whom everything and everyone is a part in some big cosmic chess game.
We finish unpacking our things and Julien brings the horse and cart out of the garage. After unloading the cart, I hop up beside Julien and we drive off to Fort Devens and whatever is waiting for us there.
* * *
It takes only half an hour, driving past Mirror Lake to the garrison at Fort Devens. Up Sheridan Road, we come to a line of buildings and go to one at the far end of the street. I expected to see guards along the perimeter, but there are none. At least none I can see. Perhaps they can see us. I expected that there would still be heavy security in place here, but it appears as abandon
ed as the rest of the countryside.
“Where are all the soldiers?”
“Deployed elsewhere, at the borders probably, keeping people inside. Those who haven’t been killed or captured, at least.”
We drive past a track, several tennis courts, and basketball courts to a white office building. Julien ties the horse to a bicycle rack and we enter, the interior cold and quiet. The walls are beige, the floors tiled in battleship grey. It appears to have been an administrative office.
“Are you sure this is where they are?” I question, getting a distinctly creepy feeling. It’s far too dusty and silent.
“I was in contact with someone only last week.”
“You were planning this already?”
Julien nods. “We agreed to meet up here—our old stomping grounds. They’re probably checking us out. Wondering who you are. I never mentioned bringing a woman.”
We stand in the middle of an empty room, the furniture and desks moved to one side, the floor bare but dusty. Our breath is visible in the chill air.
“Chris?” Julien says, going to a door of a side room. The interior is empty as well.
We walk down a long hallway. On each side are a series of offices with the desks and grey filing cabinets, bookshelves, and cardboard file boxes. Everything is covered in dust, as if people just picked up and left when the plague hit, abandoning their work. We enter another larger room that must be a reception area. As we step through the door, I feel something hard and cold press against the back of my head.
“Hold it right there,” a gruff voice says. “Don’t move.”
I see an arm reach out to Julien with a long-barreled handgun in the hand, but dare not turn my head to see who is holding the gun.
“Whoa,” Julien says, holding his hands in the air. “Steady. It’s me, Julien de Cernay. I’m here to meet with Chris Robertson.
“Turn around. Slowly,” the man orders.
Julien and I turn and we’re face to face with a lone gunman, all-American in his white blond brush cut and fatigues, a gun in each hand still in our faces. He grins and lowers the weapons.
“Nice welcome, you sonofabitch,” Julien says with a laugh and then throws his arms around the man, whom I take to be Chris Robertson. Tall, well-muscled, and square-jawed with white-blond scruff. They embrace, clapping each other on the back.
“You’re looking very human, Julie-boy,” Chris says, stepping back, eyeing Julien up and down. “Bummer.”
“Yeah, wasn’t my choice,” Julien says and stands with his hands on his hips, staring at Chris. “You’re looking like a Ranger who needs a serious blood transfusion. Don’t get any ideas, okay?”
“Julie-boy?” I say, cracking a grin. I turn to Julien, who shakes his head, smiling widely.
“Chris is one of those nickname givers. All designed to humiliate to maximum effect.”
“I always say if you can’t humiliate your friends, who can you humiliate?” Chris replies. “Come on in and have a seat. I’ve got everything ready and some coffee brewing. Got a portable hydrogen cell battery we’re using for power. An old hotplate, ancient coffeepot. I’ve been hitting all the antique stores and thrift stores for stuff that works and was made without any fossil fuels. It’s not easy.”
We sit at a table and while Chris and Julien catch up on the whereabouts of their former team members, I’m extremely happy to listen to the old percolator hiss and pop.
Chris retrieves a glass jar of cream and a bowl filled with sugar cubes. “That’s fresh,” he says as he puts the cream in front of me. “We have access to a farmer who keeps a couple of dairy cows outside the base. He’s got chickens and goats too so now and then we get some good meat and eggs. No bacon, though. I really miss bacon.”
Julien relates what happened in Boston with Soren and the Twelve, going over the whole story of their stasis and Soren’s resurrection. Chris eyes me with interest when it comes to my part of the story. I can’t help but feel guilty, especially when they discuss the resurrection of Kael and how Blackstone has a way to neutralize the plague.
Chris leans closer, his arms crossed on the tabletop. “We’ve infiltrated Blackstone’s lab. We have someone inside who will help us when the time comes.”
“Good,” Julien says. “We have to stop the plague before it goes completely global.”
They survey a map of the world and Chris points out the infected areas and shows how far the plague has spread in the weeks since its release. The map shows that the only parts not yet affected are huge tracts of Russia and the former Soviet Republics, China, the Middle East, Central Canada, and Central Africa.
“How fast is the plague spreading?” I ask while leaning over Julien’s shoulder to examine the map.
“Depends on the prevailing winds, which help it spread, but it moves on its own,” Chris explains. “There’s been no additional release of the plague entity, so it looks like it will slow down and stop eventually. We don’t know how long this most recent release will last. Blackstone was strategic in releasing it in areas that aren’t rich in fossil fuels. I think he’ll stop the plague before it’s all destroyed, but not until the whole economic system collapses.”
The map confirms that most of the developed world has been affected, with the exception of a small sliver of land running up Central and North America. Right where the Oil Sands are located in Western Canada.
“If we could stop the plague in time, there’d still be lots of fossil fuel left. We could rebuild,” Chris says. “If we’re going to act, we have to do it soon.”
* * *
The coffee is finally ready and Chris pours us each a cup. It smells so good, I’m eager to get drinking, my focus on the way the cream mixes into the dark rich liquid.
We’re just starting to relax when all hell breaks loose.
A noise and flash blind and stun me, my hearing dulled and my vision all sparkles. I feel Julien pulling me away from the table where we were sitting as my vision is finally clearing. Having vampire-sensitive eyes is not a good thing when a flashbang goes off. I’m still squinting against the pain as we run from the room, ducking down when we hear the tat-tat-tat of small arms fire.
“Here,” Chris says, opening a side door and waving us through. “There’s a stake truck just outside. Take cover.”
Julien leads me out while Chris returns fire, providing us with cover so we can run behind the truck.
When Chris joins us, crouching down beside Julien, he reloads a magazine into his weapon.
“What the fuck is going on?” Julien asks, his voice low.
Chris shakes his head. “No idea. We have guards posted all along the perimeter. I don’t know how anyone slipped through.”
Chris peers around the vehicle’s bumper and is rewarded by the sound of a bullet whizzing by. I manage not to scream.
“Damn,” he says, turning to Julien. “We need some ground support or we’re not getting out of here.”
The sun is rapidly setting and darkness claims more and more of the base, the sun disappearing beneath the line of trees that circles the perimeter.
“Who is it?” I ask, wondering if it’s Soren or Blackstone.
Chris shrugs. “Hard to tell. We’ve got to get to a better location and quick. You two go along the wall to that dumpster and I’ll provide cover. If we can make it to the front, we can use the cover of the forest to escape.”
Julien nods and motions to me to take the lead.
“On my count,” Chris says and counts down from three, two, one.
I run along the wall just as he lets go a few rounds towards the door we left, pumping the bullets out in rapid succession. I make it to the dumpster and then Julien covers for Chris, who runs along the wall to join us.
“Go to the front, by the guard house,” he instructs. “It’s only a short run to the trees.”
We nod and Chris covers us while I run for the guardhouse, Julien behind me.
“Keep going! Run until you get into the cover of the fore
st,” Julien calls to me as he turns and provides covering fire.
I follow his command, running low and fast past the guardhouse and into the forest. It’s dark inside, the moonlight filtering down from the tops of the fir trees providing a little light.
I run as fast as I can, crashing through the undergrowth, the bare branches scratching my face. There’s something familiar about the scene; I have a strong sense of déjà vu all of a sudden. I stop to catch my breath and turn to see where Julien is, but he’s not following me. I hear the crack of gunfire, several shots one after the other, and then return fire.
I keep running, my vampire vision having returned to normal after the flashbang. I can make my way quite well in the low light, running through the underbrush and between the trees. I hear someone behind me, the sound of leaves and branches snapping under foot and so I stop, turning back to see who it is. I expect to see Julien and Chris, but when I catch sight of the person behind me, my heart squeezes, for it isn’t Julien’s dark hair I see, but long white hair and a smiling face.
The smiling face of Soren Lindgren.
Chapter 107
“For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give the more you have.”
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“You didn’t really think I’d let you just walk out of my compound, did you? How foolish.”
I try to run around him, but then several of his guards appear all around us and I have nowhere to go. My fight sight doesn’t provide me with any advantage nor does my ascended status, for they’re all ascended as well. All I can do is fight with one, and with less experience, I’m unable to best him, ending up on the ground with my face shoved into the wet earth.
