by Dire, Alex
“I’m bringing you to HQ. Got to get us both back into the fight. We may not be soldiers, but we can do our part.”
Richie stiffened. The relief he'd begun to feel washed away in a wave of terror. He tried to reply, but only managed a squeak.
“Skeete will know what to do with you.”
3
“You all right, friend?” said Kane.
Richie tried to inhale but his lungs seized. Kane patted him on his back. “Are you choking?”
Richie squeezed out some sounds. “It’s…” He put his hand on his abdomen. “Hurts.”
“Ahh…” said Kane. “It should feel much better in a few moments. You really are new at this thing.”
Richie nodded.
“Follow. I won’t leave you behind.” Kane turned and began a slow march through the tunnel.
Richie still tried to bend his mind around that name. Skeete. Richie remembered her white hair and black eyes from the night she had gashed his throat open. The night he had died. Would she recognize him? Would she kill him again? Maybe he should have let Kane end it before.
Richie plodded forward, but every instinct told him to run. How could he? The second he turned and ran, Kane would be on him. He’d wait for his chance if it came.
“How’s it feeling now?” said Kane after some minutes.
“Better.”
“See?” Kane sped the pace.
As they trudged through the muck, Richie’s mind raced around his options. He kept coming back to run, but he knew that he couldn’t outrun his savior-turned-captor. He could fake an injury…pretend his wound was worse than it really was. Kane would see through that, though. One glance at his stomach and he’d know it was healed.
Richie bored a hole into Kane's back with his stare as if the answer were displayed there on a screen. Run. Just run. As he trod on, his arm glanced by the stake in his belt. His fingers wrapped around the hilt as if by instinct.
No. Not kill. He swore he never would again. The image of digging that vampire's heart out with the short stake flashed through his brain. The tearing muscle. The spray of blood. The man's gurgling last words and that scream. The scream of a dying vampire. He never wanted to hear it again. It had nearly torn his ears open.
But what choice did he have? Kane would bring him to Skeete. What would Skeete do to Richie? Probably something less neat than a swift slice across the throat.
Richie pulled the ivory handled weapon from his waist. His hand shuddered and hovered pointing the stake down. A quick step and a plunge. That’s all it would take. Richie’s pulse quickened. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears. His skin tingled and pulsed with heat.
He inched closer to Kane’s back, trying to keep his breath calm, inaudible, but his rushing blood demanded more oxygen, and he could not help but oblige. He marked a spot on Kane’s back with his mind and forced himself to it. His breathing quickened. He was nearly there. The time was now.
Richie raised the stake and held it next to his own head, poised to strike. The point wavered beside his face. His hand shook, unsteady and unsure. What if he missed? What if he only wounded him? Kane would end him in an instant.
What if he didn't miss. Richie imagined that scream and the spray of blood again. His breath raged out of control and his vision spun. The walls twirled around him. He lost the spot on Kane's back, nearly falling.
Kane walked on for a moment then stopped.
Richie slipped the stake back into his belt, then stumbled to one knee.
Kane turned. “You all right, kid?”
The walls still twirled around Richie. He made no response.
Kane walked back and put a hand under Richie's armpit, hoisting up. Richie stumbled, failing to stand.
Kane released his arm. “Why don’t you take a break for a minute.” He looked around the tunnel. “I’m not so familiar with this branch anyway. I’ll go ahead and scout out the next few turns. You never know who you might bump into.”
The world became steadier to Richie. His breathing began to slow. Kane’s words made sense. Richie nodded.
“Here,” said Kane. “Have a seat on the ledge.” He helped Richie to the side of the tunnel and the rim they’d sat on before. Kane reached into his pocket and withdrew the small jar again. He tapped out a red pill. “Here.”
Richie looked up.
“It’s my last one.” He pushed his palm toward Richie. “You need it more than me.”
Richie took the pellet and placed it in his mouth chewing. The warm solution seemed to ooze down his throat like brandy, washing away his panic. "Thanks. Again."
Kane nodded. “We can resupply when we get to Skeete.”
Richie’s panic almost returned at the mention of her name.
Kane trudged off down the tunnel splashing his way through the muck. The sound of the sloshing liquid faded as he pushed further and further on.
Richie listened until the sounds nearly vanished. Somehow, he’d survived his own foolhardy attempt to kill Kane. For a moment he felt free, as if he could rise and go any way he wanted. Even out into the sun. Then he remembered who he was. The sun would destroy him. Now Richie Taylor was a creature of darkness. A monster.
The silence of the tunnel seeped into his mind, calming it. He was alone. For the first time since the gang picked him up, he could just leave. No one would see him.
He looked down the tunnel toward where Kane had walked. At the edge of his hearing, he heard the sloshing of steps through muck reemerge. Leave now. But he’s coming! He’ll catch me. Contrary ideas bumped and stumbled through Richie's mind. Run. Be still. Escape. Stay put. The sloshing grew louder. Kane drew closer.
Finally, Richie shot up and fled down the tunnel away from the sounds. Once again, he could hear the sound of his own blood rush through the vessels in his ears. He quickened his strides matching the pace of his heart. They almost drowned out the sounds of Kane approaching from behind. Almost.
“Hey!” Kane’s surprised sounded genuine. Then his splashing footsteps grew quicker. “Hey! Get back here, you shit.”
Richie ran as fast as he could through the friction of the sewage. He turned this way and that zig-zagging his way through the tunnels without aim.
“You fucking traitor. I’ll kill you!”
Richie could almost feel the rage at his back, like heat. He couldn't fight such heat. His pace became frantic.
Kane drew near, only a few feet behind. He grunted with effort, trying to reverse Kane's approach. No human could have caught Richie at these unnatural speeds, but his enemies were not human. Kane was faster than any human, faster than Richie. In a moment Richie would be captured again. Why bother running? Why continue the chase? Why delay the inevitable? A hand gripped Richie's shoulder from behind. Richie lurched away, tumbling face first into the muck.
He quickly flipped to his back. He faced Kane, once again scrambling backward as if those inches could save him.
Kane jerked the stake out of its sheath. His knuckles whitened around the elegant hilt. “What are you? A spy? Are you even a partisan? Do you even have a side?”
Richie opened his mouth to respond, but what answer would do?
“It doesn’t matter. This is war. Now you die.” Kane took a step toward Richie, tightening his lips and furling his brow. He raised the stake above his head. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Kane’s body suddenly froze. His lips loosened, and he looked down at his shoulder. Feathers on the end of a shaft stuck out of him. Richie squinted. An arrow. He hadn’t even seen the thing hit Kane. He saw the next one, though. It struck Kane in the gut.
Kane’s whole face scrunched into its center as he growled and stumbled forward to a knee. He ripped the arrow from his shoulder, shrieking in pain.
Richie heard new footsteps sloshing through the muck behind him. A third arrow whirred past Richie’s ear. Kane flicked his head to the side and the missile flew by it. He pulled at the shaft in his stomach. The first time he howled and the thing remaine
d lodged.
The sounds from behind grew closer. They were almost on him. Richie turned to see two men rushing at him.
Kane belted a massive growl. Richie turned back. Kane held the second arrow in his hand. Blood poured from his gut.
Two voices behind him erupted in battle cries.
One body flew over Richie arcing toward Kane who caught him and threw him over his head. The second plowed right into the Corps. V partisan. They rolled for a moment. Then the scream. Richie covered his ears but nothing could block out the death screech of a vampire.
Kane shoved the limp body off him and yanked his stake out of its chest. He took one look at Richie, a snarling smile escaping his lips. He flicked his head around to face the remaining attacker. Before he could shift his weight, a point exploded through his chest. Blood sprayed out, misting Richie with warm fluid. Kane’s mouth opened, and his life left him with the horrible scream. The sound tore at Richie’s soul.
Kane slumped over into the muck. The stranger yanked his stake from Kane's back. He looked over to Richie. Richie fought the instinct to run, instead displaying his empty hands.
“Where’s your mark?” said the man.
4
Richie held his hands up higher. “Please.”
The man looked him over. Richie prayed that the hilt of his stake was obscured by his clothes.
The man let out a huff. He sheathed his weapon and bent down prying Kane's stake from his lifeless hand. He spat on it and tossed it away. "Well, if he wanted you dead that much, you can't be all bad." His gaze fell over his fallen comrade. Kneeling, he reached a hand out to the dead vampire, placing a hand on his forehead. The stranger's face softened, and his eyes glazed with forming tears. "Farewell, friend." He closed the dead vampire's eyes and dipped his head.
“Name’s Thatch.” He stood back up. “Where’s your mark?”
Another partisan. Richie hoped he could play this side of the fence better than the last. “I lost it,” said Richie.
Thatch crossed his arms eyeing Richie once again.
Richie shifted slightly to his side to make sure the stake was obscured by his body. He ran a hand over the bloody tear in the front of his shirt where a stake had once stuck. “War.”
Thatch hesitated. Then his face relaxed, and he extended a hand.
“Damned war.” He lifted Richie to his feet. “Made a mess of everything. It'll make us all corpses…or piles of ash.” He looked down at his dead companion.
“Was he your friend?” said Richie.
“Yeah. We were assembled two weeks ago. Mostly assholes. Terry was alright. So he became my battle-pair.” Thatch wiped a tear forming in his eyes. “This shit makes you close.”
Richie was surprised someone who'd just murdered could show such sentiment. “I’m sorry.”.
“Me too.” Thatch stood back up. “You’re lucky we showed up. Any later and you would have ended up like your friend.” The man nodded at Kane’s body.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Terry volunteered for this patrol. I wanted to stay back. It’s crazy down here.”
“Why are you here, then?”
The man glanced down at Richie. He raised an eyebrow. “Same as you…right?”
Richie couldn’t hold the man’s gaze and flicked his eyes to the side. “Um…”
“How did you end up on the wrong end of that Corps. V stake, anyway? What happened to your battle-pair?”
“My…Um…He died.” Richie hoped his lie was convincing. It appeared he'd have to get good at it quick.
“Hm…What was his name?”
“His name?” said Richie.
“Yeah. Maybe I know him.”
“Oh, you probably don't."
“Humor me.”
Richie’s scrambled to make up a name, but his voice belched one out before he could decide. “Norman Bernard.”
“Bernard, eh?”
Richie hoped this vampire had never met Richie’s maker. He didn't even know what side of this war Mr. Bernard was on. Richie would give anything to have him here now, though. It didn't matter which side. Richie would join, too. Just to have someone he could trust. Just to have a friend.
The stranger’s face slacked. “Never heard of him.” He slid his stake back into its sheath and reached down with his other hand. “What do they call you?”
Richie clasped the hand and pulled himself up. “Richie.”
“Good to meet you, brother. I’ll get you—”
A scampering sound echoed from behind. Richie spun around to see. Thatch flicked his gaze off Richie and down the tunnel. The sound faded to nothing.
“We’d better move,” said Thatch.
“Good. I just want to get out of here.”
Thatch put his fingers to his lips and led Richie away from the sounds. He stepped up onto the ledge against the wall that ran along the bottom of the sewer and walked atop it, just above the surface of the muck. Richie copied the action. For the briefest of moments, Richie felt like a kid balancing along the curb of a sidewalk, arms outstretched in the sun for balance. But there was no sun here. There was no light in Richie's life at all, and there never would be again.
Their progress was slower but made much less noise than sloshing through the muck. After a number of intersections and turns, they came upon a raised column of cement that jutted two feet out of the muck in the center of the tunnel. On top was a round disc of metal with the symbol for the city's works department on it.
Thatch reached fingers through the holes in the lid and pried it up. He peered down into the black, then looked back up at Richie and whispered, “Down here.”
“Why, what’s—”
“Shhh." Thatch put his fingers to his lips and shot Richie wide-eyed contempt.
Richie grimaced and nodded.
Thatch placed the manhole cover on the ground with slow-motion care as not to make a sound. He then climbed atop the cement column and into the manhole. Richie followed and descended the rungs within the shaft
Reaching the bottom, he leapt down, splashing into the muck below.
Thatch peered from side to side. Richie held his breath and listened. Silence.
“That’s better,” said Thatch.
“There’s a lower level to the sewers?” asked Richie.
“What are you a Nymph?”
This sounded familiar, like Kane all over again. Richie didn’t want to go down this road, but he knew so little of this vampire world. Thatch might sniff out any lie he could tell. He wrinkled his forehead “What of it?”
“Ok. Ok. No need to get all huffy. We all have to start somewhere I suppose.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-five." He nodded his head toward the tunnel. "C'mon, let's move. We have a long way to go."
“Anywhere but here,” said Richie.
They walked a ways in silence. Thatch in front. Richie wasn’t sure where Thatch was taking him, but he was glad it wasn’t to Skeete. Anywhere else would do. He was also glad to be away from that gang. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer with them. They would have killed him eventually. Or he would have become a monster.
In his week with them, he'd seen a face of evil he never imagined could exist. Murder and pleasure. Richie shuddered at the memories. He just wasn't a fighter. He could never have fought off Kane. The only man he'd ever killed was tied up. Once again, the sounds of cracking ribs and snapping sinew filled Richie's mind. He shook it off. No more killing. No more war. Thatch would lead him to the surface, and they'd part ways. How would Richie manage that? He wasn't sure, but apparently, he had a long walk to plot it out.
“When did you take sides?” said Thatch.
Sides? He meant the war. In his short time, he hadn't seen much to admire in either side. He didn't even know what the war was over. What was the right answer? “When did you?”
“Mph. It’s going to be one of those conversations. You should be a little less snooty considering my only friend
in this war just died saving your life.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Richie couldn’t help feel guilty for his behavior. “Terry was his name?”
“Mmm.”
Thatch was right. He’d sacrificed for Richie’s life. He owed the man a bit of trust.
“I am a Nymph,” said Richie.
Thatch chuckled. “No kidding.”
Richie couldn’t hide it. He couldn’t hide anything. He didn’t know how to navigate this world, how to relate to others like him. “I’m a week old.”
“Just a babe! No wonder you look so scared. Well, this war will make a man of you right quick…or a corpse.”
Richie was no warrior, no killer, which left only one option. He needed to get back to the surface. Then he could hide. Wait things out.
He felt Thatch waiting for some kind of response, but Richie didn't know what to say. He let the silence drag on until it snuffed out all conversation.
They marched through the muck for hours, their path a maze to get lost in, but Thatch never hesitated at any turn or intersection.
“You know your way down here,” said Richie.
“You will, too, if you live long enough. We all spend time down here, eventually. It’s always night.”
Ahead, Richie saw a vertical structure extending from the floor of the tunnel to the ceiling.
“Ah. There it is,” said Thatch.
As they approached, Richie made out a ladder constructed of thin steel bars. Finally. Finally, they could make their way back to the surface.
Thatch gripped one side of the ladder. “Need a break?”
Richie’s muscles ached and his joints throbbed with soreness. A rest would go a long way. “No. Let’s just get moving.”
Thatch looked up the ladder at the manhole cover. He then reached down and pulled at a similar manhole in the floor. He yanked and threw it aside. Filth ran down the new opening. "You wanna go first?"
Down? We’re going down? Richie peered through the hole, unable to blink. It was so dark! Darker than anything he’d ever seen. Richie slowly raised his head to meet Thatch’s glance. Where was this vampire taking him? “Down?”
