AfterAge

by Yvonne Navarro

  4

  REVELATION 4:1

  I will show thee things which must be hereafter.

  ~ * ~

  For one blinding moment Louise felt a hot, disorienting rush of terror, twisting her gut and making her body go weak. Then, as she felt Beau's warm little body curled against her, she finally remembered where she was and how she'd gotten there. She sat up, then groaned as the blankets fell away. How long had she slept? She felt draggy and . . . sick, as though she had the flu, or maybe a fever. Beau snuffled and tilted his head at her, then tottered on the edge of the rollaway bed and yipped to be put down. Louise had bedded down in the small office beside the confessionals on the east wall, and ten feet away she could see the vague, slightly lighter outline of the doorway that opened to the main hall of the church.

  "Okay, boy," she croaked as she found a new pair of jeans by her shoes. Her tongue felt like her hands, thick and swollen, and the jolts from her fingers as she dressed and picked up Beau were much worse than her knee when she stood and cautiously worked her way to the door. She limped a path down the main aisle and stepped outside, putting the dog on the sidewalk to do his business while she considered Jo's unshakable trust.

  Jo—now there was a mystery. How had she managed to survive? It was clear she wasn't the survivor type; thin almost to anorexia, though fragile was a better description of the tranquil-faced teenager, not someone likely to last out the night, much less the winter. And such faith! Louise shook her head and stared dully at the empty street. The temperature had dropped and Louise was already chilled through her jacket, yet hadn't she seen Jo leave St. Peter's hours ago without a coat? The sky was a bleak, gunmetal gray, a reverse of yesterday's pseudospring. Louise dreaded the undeniable return to cold weather and the threat of snow. On the sidewalk to her left, Beau turned and began a blind run toward her. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but Jo's sweet voice intervened.

  "You shouldn't be outside."

  Louise whirled. "Jesus! You scared me!"

  Beau wriggled around Jo's ankles and the slight girl bent to pick him up. Louise was grateful; it saved her from having to hold the squirming dog in her hands, which had leveled off at a painful, continuous throb. If pain could have a color, Louise would have called it red.

  "How did you sleep?" Jo asked.

  "Okay." Louise tilted her chin to the sky "That doesn't look very good. Snow, maybe."

  Jo shrugged. "Nothing you or I can do about that." Her eyes dropped to Louise's bandages. "How're your hands?"

  "Fine," Louise said quickly. "Thanks for taking care of me." Sudden embarrassment filled her; this porcelain-like creature had survived without complaint all this time, and here was tough Louise, with her hands and knee screwed up and feeling like crap. Nothing in Jo's manner indicated that Louise and Beau were anything but welcome, but perhaps they were imposing, altering the lifestyle and routine that had kept the girl safe all this time.

  As though reading her thoughts, the younger girl flashed her a wide, genuine smile. "It's good to have company" she said. "I've missed the sounds of life. Everyone is welcome here." She shook her head, her expression bewildered. "I had expected the House of God would be the obvious place of shelter, but I guess too few of us have the beliefs we should."

  Louise felt a little dizzy though she wasn't sure if it was fever or the strange things Jo was saying. For safety's sake, she bent her knees and sat casually on the stone steps. "So, there are others?"

  “Oh, many!" Jo stroked Beau's ears and looked at Louise thoughtfully. "You'll meet some of them soon."

  Louise frowned. "I can't believe there are a lot of other people, here or anywhere else. You're the only person I've seen since . . . since—" She stuttered for a moment. "I can't even tell you how long it's been," she finally finished.

  Jo sat next to her. "But why shouldn't you believe? You came downtown because you knew there would be places to hide, lots of food and supplies. Right?" When Louise nodded, Jo continued. "Don't let pride preclude common sense. If you can make it, there are plenty of others, stronger, wiser, better equipped, who've also survived and probably had an easier time doing it." She smiled slightly. “And there are others who seem like they should have died months ago but didn't."

  Louise felt her cheeks warm and wondered if the girl had read her mind again. "But if there are others like you say, why haven't they gotten together to fight the vampires? It seems pretty silly for everybody to struggle alone."

  "Oh, it is. But look at your own way of thinking. Did you trust me last night? Do you really trust me now? As terrible as it sounds, your instincts are good. There are many reasons to distrust in today's world, and in time you'll discover why." She stood and clasped a hand under Louise's elbow to help her to her feet. "But first you have to heal, and you can start with something to eat."

  Louise followed her benefactor into the church, trying to understand Jo's words. Perhaps it was her building fever making it hard for her to accept that Jo already knew where other people were; the girl sounded as if it were only a matter of time before social introductions were given. She tried to rethink their conversation as she moved to help Jo put together a quick meal on a small portable stove just behind the railing that separated the apse from the church's main aisle, then finally just sat and watched after Jo sternly told her to rest. She was just so tired, not really hungry, though the chicken soup that Jo heated from water and a dry mix tasted good. Her eyes and ears seemed covered by a dull film, as though she were seeing through a veil and hearing sounds while underwater. Afterward Louise took the aspirin Jo offered, though she brushed off Jo's suggestion that they put fresh bandages on her hands. All she really wanted was more sleep.

  "Well," Jo said finally, "you'll probably feel better if you rest anyway." She lifted Beau and guided Louise back to her temporary bedroom, then spread a double thickness of blankets on the rollaway bed and patted it.

  Louise nodded groggily. "I'm really tired." Beau was already dozing with his nose tucked between his paws and his belly full of leftover soup, and Louise let herself slide down beside him on the inviting covers. Her eyes closed, then opened briefly as Jo draped yet another blanket over her.

  "I'll get more from downstairs," the younger girl said. "It's going to get very cold tonight."

  "Sure," Louise agreed. Her voice sounded strange and slurred, as though she'd been drinking.

  "You get some sleep," Jo said gently. Louise was already nodding out and barely heard Jo's final words. "You're going to be amazed at what tomorrow brings."

  5

  REVELATION 2:16

  [I] will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.

  ~ * ~

  Dr. Perlman found the videotape of the vampire child's behavior disappointing. It revealed nothing except that this particular creature functioned on little besides instinct: eat and sleep. He discovered no wonderful insights or clues, though he viewed the tape so many times that the rubber eyepiece of his battery-rigged camera felt fused into his skull. Still, he didn't give up until the batteries were starting to lag.

  The boy could only be described as a beast. When he'd dragged the vampire back yesterday, Perlman had found it impossible not to wonder who the child had been in his original life. Where were his parents, how old was he, and how had he ended up like this? Had he been a mischievous little boy a year and a half ago, a playground bully, or had the one-night transformation taken him from angel to monster? All those questions were unanswerable; while the boy was frozen in eternal childhood, his skin was wrinkled and gray, bagging where body fat had once been plentiful and stretching elsewhere to give him the awful countenance of a mobile, ancient mummy. One thing Perlman noticed right away, though: the small meal had already caused a marked improvement in the vampire's appearance. While his skin was still in a sorry state, it had improved; there weren't nearly as many split places in the creases and the face was already fuller around the cheekbones.

  Perlman sat back and rubbed his eye wher
e it had been pressed against the camera viewer in between scribbling notes and staring out the window. He could learn nothing more from the tape; what he required was blood and tissue samples, and for that he needed help.

  The first thing the video had revealed was the terrible ease with which his "thin little boy" had torn through the carefully crafted bonds. A tapping made Perlman glance around; Calie stood in the doorway with C.J. behind her, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. She smiled, her gaze clear and unwavering, and Perlman's thoughts veered for a moment. He forced them back stolidly, ignoring Calie's warm look. "What can I do for you?"

  Her smile grew a little beneath her solemn brown eyes. "We came to do for you, Dr. Bill." She glanced at C.J., who was studying the walls with a bored expression, then back at Perlman. "Thought you could use some help in your research or something."

  Perlman scrutinized his notes. It was eerie the way they'd shown up at just the right time, as if Calie had known he was ready to move forward. He pushed out of his chair, careful not to bump his injured toe as he had earlier this morning. As a matter of fact, I was thinking just that. I'm ready for a tissue specimen."

  "A what?" C.J. asked.

  "A tissue specimen. Samples to put under the microscope." The doctor hobbled to a cabinet and began gathering the items he would need: a surgical knife and tongue depressors, rubber gloves, a Petri dish and a couple of clean towels. "I'll probably need a hand with him."

  C.J. snorted. "Shit. You're going to need more than a hand when you start cutting. That bloodsucker's going to rock and roll."

  "I only need a small sample," Perlman said. "Hardly more than a scratch from the skin surface." He paused, then chose another dish. "Though it would be helpful to get a scraping from one of the mucous membranes."

  “From his mouth?" Now even Calie looked doubtful.

  "Well, that would be best but probably far too dangerous—"

  "You're not kidding!" C.J. interrupted.

  "—so I'll settle for one from the nasal cavity."

  C.J. threw up his hands. "Big fucking difference, Doc! A whole half inch! I'm sure it'll be happy to lie still while we stick a knife up its nose!"

  "I think we can do it," Calie said. "He'll have to be retied first, of course." C.J. rolled his eyes. "And we'll still have to hold him. But as long as there's three of us, we should be able to keep anyone from going under."

  "Going under?" The doctor stepped into the hallway with the other two. "What do you mean?"

  C.J. sighed in exasperation, dipped his fingers into a vest pocket, and pulled out a battered cigarette butt. "Hypnotized, Doc." He glanced at Calie and gave a hard shake of his head, his black hair swinging wildly. "I can't believe he trapped that thing by himself and lived to talk about it. What a crock."

  "Actually"—Perlman limped behind them down the stairs—"I had thought about 'going under.' I had no intention of trying this alone."

  "God bless you," C.J. muttered as he came up with a match as they descended to basement level and Perlman pulled a flashlight from the top of a fire extinguisher box. He snapped it on, but its beam was a disappointing puddle of light; while it was daytime, Perlman couldn't rid himself of the paranoia that the sleeping child had woke and was now waiting, ready to leap from shadows that deepened with every step. Finally they stood at the steel door that led to the bomb shelter. Anything but pleased, C.J. bent and gathered the coil of rope and another roll of the silver duct tape Perlman had placed beside the entrance, then looked at Calie and the older man.

  "Ready?"

  They nodded. Calie seemed as calm as ever, and though C.J.'s callused hands were shaking, Perlman suspected it was more from adrenaline than nerves. Personally, he was having trouble swallowing around the pretzel-sized knot of fear in his throat; even his breathing had escalated to just ahead of hyperventilation, and he forced himself to inhale and hold it for the count of three. The child vampire's nearly successful hold on him was a nightmare memory that he was afraid would lunge when the door was opened; to put him further on edge, the door screeched like a crypt entrance from a stupid old horror movie as Calie yanked on it and C.J. stood ready with the crossbow.

  Nothing sprang from the blackness beyond the door and Perlman’s breath escaped in a rush, but neither of his companions noticed. He wondered if C.J. was disappointed and thought it would have made the kid happier to kill the childbeast and be done with it.

  "You have another light?" Calie asked. "We're going to need more."

  Perlman cleared his throat and his voice came out raspy. "Yes," he croaked. "High-powered." He gave his own flashlight to Calie and handed another to C.J., then clipped a small battery pack to his belt and held up a black-case spotlight connected to it by a coiled cord. "So I can see what I'm doing."

  C.J. hit the flashlight's ON switch, then played its bright beam down the stairs. The backwash made his face dark and chiseled, like an ancient Mexican god with deep, glittering jewels for eyes. "Let's do it."

  Bill stepped forward but Calie pushed past and was halfway down before he could protest. "Wait—“

  C.J. followed Calie like a magnet, weapon up and ready. "Come on, you're bringing up the rear."

  Perlman clambered down, half hopping, using his hands to keep his graceless body and the equipment in his pockets from bouncing against the walls. At the stairwell's bottom, Calie had already freed two of the three bars and was waiting for him before removing the third. C.J. stood by with the crossbow, a complicated thing of strings and metal loaded with a thin arrow tipped by a deadly, four-sided razor head. For the first time, Perlman saw C.J.'s crossbow as a real weapon which could kill as effectively as a firearm, or literally pin a target in place. He was suddenly very grateful for C.J.'s presence.

  Calie didn’t hesitate; as Bill took the bottom step she yanked out the final bar and leaned it against the wall in a smooth, swift motion. An instant later she grabbed the handle and pulled the metal door wide.

  The three stood, frozen. Beyond the pathetically dim circles cast by the flashlights, something stirred in a darkness thick with the smell of decay. "Your light, Dr. Bill," Calie said urgently. "Turn on your light!"

  "What—oh!" He was too terrified to feel stupid as his fingers fumbled to find the switch. Light, unbelievably bright and piercing, flooded the small room, bringing into sharp black and white the cracked concrete surrounding them. The child vampire was lying against the wall a few feet away, in the same position in which the physician had last seen him on the tape. In places his gray, filth-streaked skin was nearly indistinguishable from the mottled pattern left by the dismantled shelving.

  It definitely looks better, Perlman realized instantly. Healthier. Fascinated, he studied the creature from where he stood, noting that the gray tint was not as pronounced, the skin, though still loose and hanging, not as flaccid. The scalp hair was thicker, the face fuller—

  Daddy! A child's sweet voice cut through his thoughts. You came back—I knew you would!

  Perlman blinked as his gaze found and locked with that of the child's through transparent eyelids. He tried to pull away but it felt as though he were dragging his eyes over coarse, sticky sandpaper.

  This is not my son! Perlman could almost see the thought as a physical thing in his mind, cold and indisputable—a given, a fact, something he knew was inarguable—

  Yet his feet still moved him forward.

  Without warning the memories returned, bubbling from some long-plugged well within him: the pleasant smell of baby powder, the velvety feel of tiny arms, feathery hair tickling his cheek next to the infant's gurgling laugh and toothless smile.

  "No—"

  Perlman thought he heard someone talking, then felt a sharp tug on his head; he dismissed it as insignificant. If there was even the remotest chance that this child was his son, perhaps gone through some accelerated growth because of the change, wasn't he responsible for the boy? Shouldn't he do anything to give comfort—

  Pain, then agony, clearin
g Perlman's mind like the sweep of a chalk eraser and literally dropping him to one knee; when his vision cleared he realized he was a scant two feet from the childbeast. He didn't remember crossing the distance, but Calie was crouched beside him with one hand hooked around his elbow, and her face was twisted with a mix of fear, anguish, and sympathy. His foot felt as though he had shoved it into an incinerator and Perlman hissed through his teeth, then cursed as he tried to stand. Floating beneath the swells of pain was a stinging in his scalp that generally added to his misery.

  "You all right?"

  Surprised, Perlman nodded up at C.J. The teen's face seemed naked for a second, vulnerable and afraid, then it slipped back to its hard, unreadable mask.

  "What happened?" Perlman glanced furtively at the vampire and his mouth fell open when he realized that one of his companions had covered its eyes with duct tape.

  "You went under," Calie explained. "You didn't hear me or even notice when I started yanking on your hair." She looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, but I had to stomp on your toe to make you come back. I hope it doesn't hurt too badly."

  "Only a little," he lied, but she didn't look convinced. "I'll be fine. Really." He struggled with his legs and the injured foot until he was kneeling at the vampire's side, then began pulling out his equipment. "Let's get this over with."

  "The man finally has something good to say." C.J. set the crossbow carefully against the wall and took a stance at the head of the child on the floor. "What's first?"

  Perlman forced himself to think through the mist of pain as he studied the child critically. "I think we'll do the tissue sample last. How much can he do while he's sleeping? Shouldn't we tie him up?"

  "He's getting smarter," C.J. told Calie as he held up the rope and twisted slipknots around the vampire's arms and legs that would only tighten in a struggle. The length of gray rope nearly vanished against the boy's dull skin. When C.J. started to cover the mouth with duct tape, the doctor stopped him.