SURVIVAL

by Karen Payton Holt

  “I think Leizle had better take over.” He looked into Rebekah’s pain pinched face. “Sorry honey. My touch completes a circuit. His vampire senses are picking up on mine.” Connor inspected the new bruising, and pinning a reassuring smile in place hid the guilt swilling in his stomach. This is all my fault.

  “How about a bath? That always calms him,” said Connor.

  “You do know the prize-fighter could be a girl? Right?”

  Connor grinned. “I know that. I just refuse to call our baby ‘it’. A ‘she’ is just fine, honey.”

  “Okay. ‘He’ is just fine too, for now.”

  Fifteen minutes later Rebekah was languishing in a warm bath which featured high on the list of baby-calming techniques.

  “I’ve had so many baths this week, I feel as though I’m water logged.” Rebekah held her pruned fingers up for inspection, and closed her eyes to enjoy the rumble of Connor’s laughter rippling down her back.

  He could not deny that laying back in a bath with her resting against his chest swelled his dead heart with joy. As his hands traced the curve of her heavy breasts, his fingers absorbed the creaking in her ribs every time the baby struggled for comfort. She can’t go on like this.

  The persistent grinding of the baby’s teeth was a constant hum inside Connor’s head now. How long before he takes a bite out of his mother? I need Anthony and the hospital.

  “Honey, you know, I won’t lose you?” Connor’s cool breath on her wet shoulder rippled a shiver down her spine.

  “Lose me?” Rebekah’s voice was heavy with sadness. “And the baby?”

  “If I have a choice to make, I will choose you. I have to tell you that.” The tension in his face folded a sneer over his lip. “The baby’s developing the brain center which ensures a vampire’s survival, the bloodlust of grave sleep.” Connor allowed his words to settle.

  Rebekah sighed. “I know. But he wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “He might.” Connor tuned into her cantering heartbeat. “If he gets a taste for blood, eats through the umbilical cord. Who knows what the baby will do in grave sleep?” Connor pushed her hair back from her face, lifted her chin gently and kissed her lips. Resting his forehead on hers, he said, “Today, when Julian gets here, I will declare myself and get you to the hospital.”

  “But you are sentenced to death.”

  “Julian will be there. It will work out.” Connor dropped a kiss onto her nose. “I promise.” I have no idea if Julian can pull it off, but we have no choice.

  “Are they on their way? The guardsmen?” Rebekah whispered.

  “They will be here, tonight, yes.” Connor’s eyes glinted with silvered determination. “They will listen. They won’t launch an attack upon me lightly. They know the consequences.”

  As Rebekah took in another breath to interrogate him, Connor surged up from the water, lifting her with him as he stepped out onto the tiled floor. “Enough about that. While he’s quiet, let’s get you fed.”

  Rebekah recognized an evasive manouver when she saw one, but right now, trusting Connor was all she had. The thought of food flooded her mouth with saliva and she was suddenly ravenous.

  Connor towel dried her skin and helped her into a sweatshirt and pants, detaching the plastic tether of the price tag with a pinch of his fingers.

  “More new clothes? Have you cleaned out every Mothercare outlet in London?”

  “Probably.” Connor grinned as he took her hand, and they headed towards the kitchen and food.

  Oscar and Leizle stopped talking as Rebekah appeared. Getting up from the table, Oscar went over to the range and with a smile of his lips and clouds of worry in his eyes, he said, “What would madam like today? I’m an expert at flash-frying, braising and sautéing. So, what’s it to be? Lamb, pork, or chicken?”

  “Pork chops?”

  With the decision made and a heavy skillet in his hand, Oscar threw himself into the task with brittle enthusiasm.

  “Oscar?” Connor’s concentration centered on his back until he turned around with an inquiring glance.

  “You know what to do?” Connor said, glancing at Leizle’s white face, too.

  “Yep. The panic room is well stocked. We can hide there for days if we need to. Don’t worry about us, lad.” Oscar jerked his head in Rebekah’s direction. “Just look out for her.”

  “Hey, Rebekah, come sit with me.” Leizle’s calming air was like oil on water.

  While Oscar cooked, – if heating pork chops for a few seconds on each side could be called cooking – Connor tuned out the staccato of worried heartbeats playing as a symphony through his senses, and found comfort in the two that mattered. His child slept at last.

  He scanned Rebekah’s exhausted features and realized that the endorphins flooding her bloodstream were barely taking the edge off the ache in her bones. As her ribcage came under more pressure, she would not cope. Getting her through this will need help I can’t give her here. His hand clenched in frustration. I’m looking at a C-section, I know that.

  Connor detached himself, drifting away to stand at the cavern entrance.

  Oscar brought food to the table which tasted as good as it looked. Although no one managed more than a mouthful, apart from Rebekah, who wolfed her’s down without pausing, finally looking up as she wiped the back of her hand across her chin.

  “What?” she muttered at being the center of attention for three sets of eyes.

  Leizle laughed.

  “Nothing wrong with seeing a girl enjoying her food,” said Oscar as he got to his feet and removed the plates.

  “I enjoy my food,” Leizle teased, “I just let it touch the sides on the way down.”

  “You eat like a bird, young lady. There’s nothing of you,” Oscar quipped with a big smile.

  Rebekah listened to Oscar and Leizle bouncing words off each other. Their voices became the soothing ebb and flow of ocean waves breaking on the shore. Tiredness crept over her again and her body felt heavy.

  Her eyes wandered over to Connor, and she was mesmerized by his frozen features and trancelike state as he stood like a sentinel at the entrance of the dining cavern.

  Connor listened to the shift in the breeze, the movement of leaves, and the rumble of excitement inside the approaching guardsmen. They’re almost here.

  Rebekah studied his strong profile one moment, and in the next, he vanished. Her brain registered the blur, but her eyes were too slow to track the path of his departure. She took a deep breath, and regretted it instantly as the needle jab of a stitch pierced her side. I’m a vital part of this. If he cannot hold them off, Connor will come for me.

  Leizle squeezed her hand and concern furrowed her brow. “You okay?”

  “Serves me right for eating too much,” she said weakly.

  Rebekah stared at the space Connor last occupied, and then the ground overhead began to shake.

  “It will be okay,” she muttered, looking at Leizle and Oscar. “He’ll be okay, I know he will.”

  Rebekah remembered watching wartime documentaries as a child, where the grimy-faced population of a beleaguered London took refuge in the subterranean tube train network. Black and white footage panned row upon row of sleeping bags, bodies cocooned like exhausted caterpillars. It seemed more like a breathing morgue where they lay ramrod straight in huddled masses, each taking up as little space as possible. Perpetually locked muscles made relaxation a forgotten art as terror and apprehension were a constant rolling current of emotions.

  Rebekah felt like that now. The baby kicked, making it hard to stay silent.

  She locked her eyes onto Leizle’s face and gripped her hand tightly, comfort and reassurance flowing between the two girls until Rebekah’s bloodless fingertips lost all sensation.

  Their eyes darted around the cavern. Fear took hold of them as the earth above shook in short explosive tremors. Mortar crumbled from the height of the domed ceiling, raining down upon the hardened grit floor, and Rebekah understood the horror of actually hea
ring wartime bombs landing, and never knowing if a direct hit would start an avalanche of rubble.

  Rebekah’s insides churned with every blow landing above their heads. Is Connor fighting for our survival, or his? Her heart clenched in fear, and she fought her own battle inside as the baby kicked hard and she doubled over in pain.

  “Maybe we should go to the panic room, make you comfortable. Just in case-” Leizle scanned Rebekah’s pinched features. “It would be safer, Rebekah.” Leizle tried to laugh, clearing her throat, as she said, “I know we were told never to play inside refrigerators, but hey, this one is the size of my bedroom back home, and it’s kitted out with everything we need.”

  “I know all that.” Rebekah rushed on as Leizle tugged persuasively on her fingers. “But, no,” she whispered, “he needs me, and he will come. But you and Oscar should go.”

  Oscar snorted loudly and sat beside Rebekah, hugging her fragile shoulders carefully and oozing confidence as he said, “He’ll be fine, lass. He’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Yes.” The sound echoed around her head, but stayed trapped in her throat. He’ll win, I know he will.

  With every earthquake tremor rumbling through her bones, the baby kicked, like he, too, was fighting alongside his father. Rebekah face drained of color, leaving her exhausted features resembling a death mask of purple-stained eye sockets and waxy pallid skin. The pain in her chest begged her to breathe, but the baby twisting inside forced her breath out.

  The cavern walls began to swim before her eyes. Dropping her chin down onto her chest, she groaned, “Connor.”

  Leizle fell to her knees in front of Rebekah, looking up into her face. “Hang on,” she said, gripping her pale fingers. “Is it the baby?”

  Chapter 23

  Connor traveled the tunnels like a silent wraith until he reached the sackcloth curtain marking the threshold where the human and vampire worlds collided. He moved the draped cloth aside and flexed his diaphragm, tasting the atmosphere beyond it and quantifying the sense of excitement thrumming on the breeze. There are twelve all told, and they are waiting. For Julian? Surely not.

  He did not want to leave Rebekah behind in the dining cavern, but if he revealed her presence, it had to be when he could protect her.

  He stepped forward into the moonlit clearing and searched the row of faces for Julian. His quiet tone finally sliced through the night air as he asked, “Who is in command here?”

  A shockwave of surprise rippled through the ranks of the guardsmen. Captain Laurence stepped forward, his astonishment obvious. “Until Councilor Serge arrives, I am in charge.” The captain’s eyes glistened with polished jet. “And you, Doctor Connor, should prepare to die.”

  “You have the authority to order that, Captain Laurence.” Connor inclined his head, spreading the relaxed fingers hanging loosely at his sides. “However, I’m here to negotiate.”

  The captain’s lip curled. “You lost your right to negotiate the day you stood up in court and betrayed your own kind by keeping a human.”

  “My own kind?” Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Every butterfly was a caterpillar, once. Think man, they are us. We were them. How can you have forgotten that?”

  Contempt glittered in Captain Laurence’s stare, and Connor knew he would have to fight. The man respected me. Finding I have feet of clay must make his own footing seem precarious.

  The captain’s tone stripped the regret from his words. “I’m sorry. I deal in black and white. The law is clear. You escaped from Storage Facility Eight and the punishment is summary execution.”

  “I think Principal Julian would hear me plead my case first.”

  “Perhaps. However, Principal Julian is not in command. Councilor Serge will be here momentarily.”

  “In that case, how many guardsmen are you willing to lose?” Connor smiled.

  The moonlight transformed his sarcasm into a macabre mask, and every vampire knew they could forget the Queensbury rules of engagement. Doctor Connor’s human society may date from 1910, but, this would be bare knuckle fighting, guerrilla warfare, and not the ridiculous discipline of an English regiment.

  Captain Laurence raised a clenched fist, extending an index finger skyward. At the signal of three clockwise rotations, two guardsmen moved into action.

  Connor scanned the faces. As with all trained fighters, they had orchestrated plans of attack. The vampires, moving to take up their set-piece positions, screamed their intentions. Being an instinctive combatant, Connor’s face relaxed as he visualized the encounter.

  Clutching at the element of surprise, the vampires flew at him.

  Staring at a midpoint, Connor let the rest blur out of focus as he calculated their speed. He tingled in anticipation. The vampire on the right would hit first. Even though he lagged behind, the intent etched on his face radiated the steely resolve of being the first over the top.

  When the lead vampire lunged, Connor took two steps forward, swinging the blade of his hand in a devastating arc which crushed the vampire’s oesophagus. Number one clutched his throat, surprise radiating across shocked white features as an inhaled gasp whistled through snapped vocal chords.

  Guardsman number two swung in from the left, as the second prong of the attack. Already committed, there was no going back, even though he was the central focus of a six foot three, cold, hard, calculating warrior.

  Connor made eye contact, his sneer baring teeth as a low growl rumbled in his throat. The guardsman set a course two feet wide of Connor’s left shoulder. Digging his heels in, he stopped abruptly, leaned away, and unleashed a roundhouse kick at Connor’s outthrust chin.

  I’m impressed, thought Connor. The force of it would have broken his jaw and shattered the vertebrae of his neck, had it landed.

  As appreciation rattled through his mind, Connor whipped up an arm, blocking the move as the weight of the vampire’s boot accelerated his leg forward. The iron hard muscle in Connor’s forearm held firm, and the guardsman’s shin fractured, a moment before a seismic tremor tore through the cartilage in his knee.

  Barging forward until the hamstrung vampire hit the ground, Connor smiled as the shockwave rattled through his own chest, stirring exhilaration. He planted his boot on the vampire’s neck, his steely regard coated with hard frost as he said, “You’re lucky. I feel generous, today. You get to live and learn.”

  Glaring from the edge of the battlefield, the captain ground his teeth when the crack of the splintering shin bone signaled the fall of the second guardsman.

  At that moment, Serge sprawled into the clearing like a parachutist overrunning his landing, and drew the captain’s irritated gaze. Pulling himself together, Serge joined Laurence at the head of the platoon. The range of impassive guardsmen stood like a row of olive green-clad chess pieces, equally spaced and waiting to be directed to move.

  “Councilor Serge,” said Captain Laurence grimly, his attention boring into the distance.

  Serge followed the direction of the captain’s stare, and all expression melted from his features as his jaw fell open. “Doctor Connor.”

  Only Connor’s deliberate footfall disturbed the stunned silence, reverberating through the ground as he advanced and stopped ten yards away.

  Serge took a deep rattling breath.

  “Well, Councilor, can you smell forty humans?” Connor shook his head. “You’ve been played, yet again.” His scorn unveiled a gunmetal gray gaze. “As for ‘summary execution’, would you like to see how that will play out?”

  Connor felt the current of nervous excitement rippling through the line of motionless guardsmen.

  Serge bellowed, his voice crackling like a spitting oil fat fire, “Arrest him.”

  Captain Laurence jerked around to look at Serge’s contorted face. “Arrest?”

  “I want the hive to witness the execution of Doctor Connor. Arrest him.”

  At a signal from Captain Laurence, four guardsmen moved forward, their teeth grinding in locked jaws. Their eyes were
alight with bravado. Connor knew that whatever gambit they ran through their minds, they could find only the promise of broken bones.

  They fell into paired sets, and Connor shook his head in disbelief. Really?

  Primed and ready to attack, two stepped closer. They had the scent of the hunt, but Connor stole their thunder. This should be fun. He rocked on the balls of his feet and extended both arms in surrender, allowing them the satisfaction of grabbing hold of him and feeling in control. Their confusion at his compliance made their clawed fingers dig in harder.

  “I came to talk.”

  “Talk? You took out two of Principal Julian’s guard, and you want to talk?” Serge’s saliva rattled in his throat. “Such arrogance.”

  Connor’s still expression was carved in alabaster, the moonlight picking out the crystalline shards glowing beneath his skin. Fully fed capillaries glinted; the tough pale red threads bore evidence of the one hundred years which had forged his tissue into velvet draped rock.

  He raised his brows in inquiry. “Arrogance? Arrogance is when you can’t deliver.”

  As the words floated on the evening breeze, Connor released the coiled tension he held in check. Twisting his hips, he kicked backwards and shattered the knee-cap of the vampire on his right, who fell away, tearing the sleeve from Connor’s shirt as he tried to save himself but lost his grip.

  As the second pair rushed in, Connor gripped the bicep of the stunned vampire, who still clutched his right arm, and launched both his feet forward, cracking the ribs of the leading guardsman. As the stunned opponent flew backward, the back of his skull shattered the cheekbones of his partner coming up behind.

  Connor’s feet were back on the ground before the guardsman beside him reacted. He swung around and grabbed Connor by the throat.

  “Do you want to try it?” Connor’s grin was maniacal as though the mercury gray of his eyes poisoned his brain.

  The vampire’s own eyes glowed with excitement as he increased the pressure.