SURVIVAL

by Karen Payton Holt

  The human farm was the vampire equivalent of Fort Knox. The most precious commodity to vampire survival was protected within these walls. Connor hoped other hives were as careful with their humans. If vampire hives became adversaries, hell bent on poaching the stock of others, the chaos did not bear thinking about.

  Right now, the fences would be enough to contend with. Connor’s appraising glance took in the twelve foot height of the barrier as he rubbed his fingertips over his bicep where a deep groove carved into it still glittered like newly quarried quartz. Even I get it wrong sometimes. The razor wire which meandered along the top edge of the fence glinted in mocking invitation.

  “Three fences. Crap. C’mon Anthony,” Connor muttered.

  Scaling the woven metal, he jammed his boots in, stretching the holes, and deformed squares to starbursts with his hands. Adrenaline drove Connor effortlessly over the top. Dropping to the ground, he jogged towards the next barrier, shouting, “Guard! Guard!” He barked the word.

  Connor scoured the boundary, looking for the vampire warden. He checked his watch. “It’s three a.m. The siphoning sheds will be full. Where the hell is the guard? They can’t all be in there.”

  “I think I see him,” said Anthony, arriving at Connor’s shoulder and pointing into the mid distance.

  Beyond the second fence, which marked the middle of no man’s land, a coal-black shadow moved.

  Connor stepped forward and shook the fence. The chainmaille barrier rattled as his grip compressed the tidy squares into nuggets of metal. “Guard.”

  Seconds later, a stern-faced vampire materialized before them.

  “LH5839204. Doctor Connor on council business. Open up,” said Connor shortly.

  Anthony provided his own personal identity number as the vampire opened the man-sized gate and stepped back.

  The gatekeeper glowered. “Supervisor Matthew is not expecting you.”

  “I’m not here to see the supervisor,” muttered Connor.

  “State your business,” the vampire said flatly.

  With one look at the tight smile on Connor’s face, Anthony said quickly, “This is Doctor Connor. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The vampire fell back as Connor’s fierce expression cleared a path as easily as a snow plow. His muttered apologies were brushed aside as Connor set off at a run, following the scent of blood.

  Anthony peeled away and disappeared from view, headed for the more immediate location of the medical center.

  The siphoning annexes loomed as vast silver-gray rectangular constructions, their brushed-steel exteriors burnishing in the glare of the compound floodlights. Connor set his sights on the nearest set of loading bay doors.

  Pushing briskly through them, he made a quick detour into the scrub room. He plunged his ice cold hands into a container of boiling water, dried them on a sterile cloth, and then yanked on his white coat. Automatically, he pressed a soft plastic mask into place, which fit the lower half of his face like a second skin.

  Striding to the end of the short hallway, he barged the swing door aside and stopped short when Supervisor Matthew materialized in front of him.

  “Doctor Connor.” Matthew’s neutral tone and blank expression could not hide the resentment glinting in his eyes.

  Connor had not seen him since their last run in, when he tore a strip off the supervisor for allowing blood tainted with clots to enter the vampire food chain.

  “Good evening, Supervisor Matthew.” Connor’s grin was empty. “I’m looking for B-positive compatible blood. Fourteen pints should do it, and I’ll need more on standby. Think you can manage that?”

  “Is this for the hybrid birth?”

  “I see good news travels fast.” Connor scowled lightly.

  Matthew nodded. “Juror Marius alerted us. I expected you to bring her here, to the medical center.”

  “You and I know better. Your track record for human childbirth is not encouraging.” A hard glare added contempt to words softened by the plastic mask hugging his face. “Come with me.” Connor led the way into the siphoning hall.

  Entering the cavernous space, the labored breathing of dozens of rows of reclined humans swelled the air with dread and fear. The restraints pulled tightly across each donor’s chest and pelvis did not cause them pain, not unless you considered the reeling sensation of plummeting blood pressure which played havoc with their state of consciousness, to be pain.

  Connor clenched his jaw. Even the scene of suffering could not prevent his mouth flooding with saliva, and the hot tide of hunger rose in his throat as the full bodied aroma of blood wafted into his brain. Tamping down the jarring blend of distaste and excitement, Connor moved forward.

  Closing in on the first procession of bodies lying on the stainless steel beds, Connor’s keen gaze assessed the pallor of each face, inspected hands for evidence of good circulation, and finally, he lifted half-filled bags of blood to check the color of each sample.

  Behind his own plastic face shield Matthew’s features were tight as he followed along the row.

  “It has to be type B or O,” murmured Connor urgently.

  “It should be simple enough to test it.” Matthew nodded briskly and moved off down the line, headed for the blood storage facility until Connor called him back.

  “It has to be fresh. The blood in storage, with the way we keep it, will have begun to decay. It doesn’t matter to us, but humans need the antibodies and antigens to be intact. We’re against the clock here.”

  “I’ll collect some fresh bags from today’s harvest, then, and take them to the clinic for cross matching.”

  “There’s no time.”

  Supervisor Matthew looked irritatingly smug. “Well, unless you have a better idea.”

  Connor pulled away his mask and drew in a deep breath, tensing as the salty aroma of human skin filling his nose enticed him to feed.

  Setting off in a grid-like search, Connor paused for a nanosecond at each bedside, analyzing the smell from the site where a siphoning tube snaked from the vein and down into the transfusion bag. Frustration curled his lip as he wasted precious time detaching each tube from the catheter, collecting a droplet on his finger and tasting it.

  A vampire intern, with a mask firmly in place, scuttled along behind him repairing the damage and restoring the connection.

  Finally, Connor found a faster way. Gripping the patient’s wrist and pressing it to his nose, if the blend of iron and amino acids stroking over his sinuses seemed promising, Connor dug the blade of his thumb nail into the patient’s wrist, tasted the blood and then nodded sharply to Matthew.

  A blend of bloodlust and amazement smeared across Supervisor Matthew’s features as he pressed his plastic mask closer.

  “B positive, tag him,” Connor barked and moved on.

  “What do you want me to do?” His strangled speech was easily understood by Connor.

  Grab a crate, I have less than half an hour to get the blood back to my operating theater, and tag that man. I may need more.”

  Matthew galvanized into action. Whisking away to collect a deep stainless steel cart, by the time he returned, Connor had gathered four transfusion bags. He let them slip from his grasp into the crate and continued on down the row.

  Pressing his nose to a further fifty wrists, Connor cut into another half a dozen arms, and repeated his harvesting of the almost-full bags of O-positive blood. Connor’s smile was grim as the infusion bags in the stainless steel container formed a satisfying pile, their oily plastic skins glistening in the ambient light.

  He felt a pang of regret as human terror registered in his mind. He knew they did not see him coming, they just felt the unexpected chill of his touch on their sweating flesh. The echoes of their panicked cries were still reverberating around the cavernous space when Connor decided it was time to go.

  He tipped the crate of I.V. pouches into a linen laundry bag, guiding the flow like a fisherman with a slippery catch, before tugging it from its metal
frame.

  “Supervisor Matthew, tag the donors and find me some more. I may be back.” Twisting the neck of the linen sack around his fist, Connor slipped out through the doorway. He left the human farm complex and headed out at speed. The heavy fabric of his dark coat flapped wildly as he took the direct flight of the crow he resembled.

  Chapter 26

  The hospital came in to sight and, like a man coming in on a zip wire, Connor hit the sidewalk running. He changed direction abruptly and barely avoided a collision with the wall when he skimmed through the doorway, tearing his coat on the wooden frame as he held the linen bag safely out in front.

  Back inside the operating suite, his eyes darted to Rebekah, and relief cramped his chest.

  Anthony was there already, wearing a half smile of triumph. Connor nodded his approval at the sensor pads scattered over Rebekah’s torso and the steady beep of a heart rate monitor.

  The items on Connor’s list were laid out on surgical trolleys in an orderly fashion, and he itched to just tear open the C-section kit and deliver the baby, but common sense prevailed.

  “Julian?”

  “I have given the baby three more doses of muscle relaxant, but, it’s still feeding.

  Connor crossed to Rebekah’s side and wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “Her blood pressure is ninety over fifty. We’ve got to get the transfusion up and running.”

  Pulling the laundry bag open, he fished out a bag of blood and hooked it up to an I.V. drip stand.

  He probed the flesh of her arm, growling gently because finding a vein proved as difficult as he feared. It was like looking for a needle in the haystack of her collapsed circulation. Connor quickly placed a tourniquet around Rebekah’s arm, closed his eyes, and ran his fingertips across her skin. Before he could second guess his ‘find’, he opened his eyes and gently inserted the needle. Finally, the cannula he pushed beneath her skin darkened to burgundy. He sighed with relief. “Thank God, I found a vein,” he muttered, and, with a deft stroke, taped the cannula in place.

  He opened the valve on the I.V. bag, and, watching the plastic coils of the hose twitch like a disturbed snake, he made sure the blood flooding in had no air bubbles before hooking it up to the catheter.

  “We can’t speed this part up. It’s a waiting game, now.” Connor laid his hand over Rebekah’s and her fingers jerked. “I can’t use an epidural for a C-section, she’s dehydrated and the epidural space will have shrunk. And I don’t want to anesthetize her. If I can’t monitor her responses to pain she could slip into coma. I need her to be able to drink blood, if it comes to that.”

  “Do we have any idea how long it’s going to take?” said Julian.

  “Honestly? With the baby still draining her, we’re looking at a few hours. Normal rate is an hour and a half per unit, but with a 23-gauge needle, and the risk of cardiac arrest if we rush this...” Connor clenched his jaw. “I’ll find a way to turn her if I have to, I won’t let her go.”

  Julian pressed for a solution, “Surely there’s some way we can inject her with your blood?”

  “Into her stomach, maybe.” Connor was non-committal. “Nothing else but ‘drinking’ is guaranteed to work. Only the act of feeding would release enzymes into her mouth and stomach, and lining of the gut has to filter the vampire blood for the transformation to work. If I infuse her into a vein, without the filtering process, anaphylactic shock will kill her anyway.”

  “Rebekah has to be conscious then? To turn her? Able to drink from you?” asked Julian.

  Connor nodded as he stroked his fingers across the radial pulse on Rebekah’s wrist. “Getting as much human blood into her as we can, and keeping the baby relaxed, is our only option, for now.”

  The resounding ping of the heart rate monitor marked out the seconds as they stretched to fill minutes and then hours, and there was no room left for words.

  Julian stood back and watched Connor. Breathing in deeply, he said, “Marius came by earlier.”

  Connor’s head jerked around.

  Julian deflected the irritation clouding Connor’s glare with an upheld hand. “They need to know, to field the questions. A lot of vampires died today.”

  “What do they need to know?” Connor pushed his hand angrily through his hair, transforming sleek, black satin strands into a clutch of charcoal fragments.

  “That there is hope.” Julian paced the room at speed. “Think of it as damage limitation. Alexander and Marius will watch your back more eagerly if they believe a solution to vampire survival could come out of this.”

  Julian stopped talking abruptly and focused on the theater door.

  The metal groaned as the door whipped aside and Marius materialized as if their words had conjured him. His eyes settled on Rebekah’s rounded stomach and moved over her pale face. “Any change?”

  “Juror Marius. I see the vultures are gathering. I hear you wanted the baby born on the farm.” Connor’s eyes darkened to flint.

  Marius inclined his head. “I meant nothing by it. We want the pregnancy to succeed.”

  Connor released Rebekah’s hand and reared to his feet. Whipping across the room, he backed Marius into a corner.

  “The pregnancy? This is my baby...” Connor’s grinding teeth forged his words into bullets. “And she is my destiny. I will kill more vampires than I killed today to save her.”

  Marius’ oil-black eyes absorbed Connor’s anger. “Talking of deaths, Doctor Connor. Serge has called for your arrest, again.”

  “The council can go to hell,” spat Connor.

  “Just so,” Marius said calmly. “The council will wait. I did not think you would leave her.” The obsidian glaze of his eyes caught the light as he raised his chin.

  Without releasing Marius from the traction of his glare, Connor barked, “Another dose of muscle relaxant, Anthony. The baby is stirring.”

  Rebekah sighed harshly as Connor’s words moved Anthony into action. Pressing the plunger of the amniotic syringe, he delivered another ten-millilitre dose.

  The beeps of Rebekah’s heart rate monitor tap danced with arrhythmia for a moment, before the sinus node fought for control of her heartbeat and won. Connor frowned. “Councilor Serge can go to hell. Until my baby is born, everything will wait. Tell him if he comes inside my hospital, he will lose the other arm.”

  “Even with one arm, he’s more trouble than he’s worth.” Marius’ marble complexion folded into a rare grin. “I came to assure you that, when the time comes, we will give Serge enough rope to hang himself, and earn a sentence of locked-in syndrome. In which case, you will have the pleasure of moving him to the stage-three of skull crushing.” He tilted his head as he added, “I still wonder at your own escape. Maybe one day I will ask the question.”

  Connor matched Marius’ idle tone. “And, maybe one day, I will tell you.”

  “Juror Marius, what’s the news on Sebastian?” Julian asked.

  Marius stood to attention as he replied, “No one has seen him since the guardsmen were deployed, Principal Julian.”

  “He’s more dangerous than Serge. He believes his delusions.” At Connor’s piercing glance, Julian bared his teeth. “He took me on. He thought he could blackmail me.”

  Marius bowed his sleek head as he buried his own speculations. “I could set up a hunt? Although...” Looking at Connor, he added, “I mean no offence, Doctor, but you took out the best captain we’ve had in thirty years. It’s a pity.”

  “I regret it, too,” Connor said simply. “He fought well, and came close to beating me.”

  “The last vampire we hunted down was Jack of London.” Julian’s low tone drew Marius into the confidence. “It was my first collaboration with Connor, on council business. Sebastian may not kill and disembowel women, but he’s worse than that, he’s the insidious killer who goes unnoticed.”

  Disgust tightened Julian’s face as Connor agreed with his assessment.

  “Deploy the guardsmen. Find him. Sweep the hospital, Marius. Every linen
hamper and cadaver drawer. I don’t want any stone left unturned,” said Julian.

  Connor nodded decisively. “Things could happen fast here, Anthony. Go to the dispensary, feed, and bring blood back for me and Julian.”

  With each vampire bent on his own task, Marius disappeared as quickly as he arrived, closely followed by Anthony.

  Facing Connor, Julian measured his words in case they were overheard. “There are others to protect.”

  “And Sebastian knows their whereabouts.” Connor was grim. “You’ll need to protect her.”

  “If Marius fails to find him.” Julian conceded. “And as soon as the birth is over.” Julian paused in his latest circuit of the room to look down at Rebekah. “She looks... pinker.”

  “I’m still hoping to talk to her before I operate.” Connor framed her face and trailed a finger over an ivory-tinted cheekbone. “You can do this, honey,” he whispered.

  Julian stood on Rebekah’s other side. “At least, hypothermia did not set in.”

  “Although, the drastic measures I took then were effective-” Connor’s smile froze into a grimace as he turned a stunned expression to Julian. “It was then.”

  “What was then?” Julian’s brows drew together.

  “The conception.” Connor breathed. “The timing is about right. We know the gestation period of the baby is accelerated. It was about the right time... it was then.”

  “When? What?” Julian’s tone was exasperated.

  In an awed tone, Connor said, “When she had hypothermia. I took a bath in boiling water so I could warm her, and I lost control.” His regret weighted his words with lead. “It was a freak occurrence. It makes sense. Our core temperatures must have been the same at the moment of conception. it adds up.”

  Julian’s brows climbed as he considered the chances that the mystery had been solved. “Are you sure?”