Blood Run – The Complete Trilogy – First Promise, Two Riders, Last Chance

by Dougherty, Christine

  She strove now to set at least one small part of it right, spurred by love, but also, spurred by guilt.

  She glanced back at Lea and Mark once more, grateful to them. They were going to take care of her brother for her while she was gone.

  Promise’s mother had been a mild hippy–as hippy as conservative Wereburg would allow–and had named her children Destiny and Chance. Chance was born nine years after Destiny and had been much more than just a little brother to her. She’d begun calling herself Promise the day that Chance had been changed…she had told her raging, snapping, unhappy little brother that she would fix everything.

  She had promised.

  Her original intention had been to find him and stake him, set him free of the uniquely unhappy vampire curse. Although many of the old bits of folklore had proved untrue–holy water, crosses, garlic, and calls to a savior did not affect them–anything that pierced the heart and direct sunlight would kill a vampire.

  There was another aspect of the plague that Hollywood had never considered–it was a disease. Not unlike rabies or distemper in animals, vampirism was a sickness that radically altered the human state, giving the vampires PCP strength and a raging desire for human blood. And as it turned out, some people had a built-in immunity.

  Peter had come to Wereburg with the National Guard, interested in the black horse he’d heard was boarded there. He’d lost his wife and almost his life a year previous when the plague had come to his Pennsylvania town. He had been bit, but some degree of immunity had kept him from changing over completely. It had been a remarkable and hope-giving development. He’d been shunted around as he healed until he’d finally landed at an army base in New Jersey, where they were scrambling to develop a vaccine. When they discovered Peter and his immunity, they also turned their attention to a cure.

  There were other immunes and partial-immunes like Peter; a lucky few who had been bit but somehow managed not to die from their wounds. Like the others who’d survived, he had a reminder of his ordeal: a scar on his neck that ran from below his ear to under his collar. It itched when the sun hit it like a souvenir of a bad destiny barely missed.

  Sitting at the base hadn’t eased the black depression that tried to crush him, and he’d finally headed out with the National Guard in hopes that travel would help to turn his mind from the tragic events of the last year.

  And from his new state as a half-and-half. In many places, he’d been looked on with great suspicion. Secretly he wondered if that suspicion might even be justified.

  He’d eventually landed in Wereburg, his motivations for finding another horse a mystery, especially to himself. It was a compulsion he didn’t understand and tried not to question since it had the one redeeming quality of keeping his mind off of everything else.

  He’d found the black horse, but more importantly, he’d found Promise. She’d looked and acted older than her eighteen years, and when he’d first seen her–walking past the office in the high school, her long black hair tethered in a ponytail that matched her horse’s–he’d seen a depth of hurt in her eyes that matched his own. There was something desperate and wild but also resolutely determined about her grief.

  She was a woman equally driven by compulsion.

  When Promise found out about Peter’s own half-and-half state and the possibility of a cure, her obsession over staking her little brother changed. With the help of Lea, Mark, and Peter, they’d trapped Chance in her parents’ old house in Willow’s End–a development close to town, but also close to the vampire infested woods.

  They were going to try to keep it a secret. Promise was going to take care of her brother, keeping him locked in the small laundry room, trying to talk him around as they waited for the cure to come to Wereburg.

  But then Deidre Morris had found out about it. Deidre was college-age and should have long ago left her high school, popular girl mentality behind, but the plague had actually cemented her desire for a return to the neat and orderly world she’d understood. It was the last good thing she’d known.

  When she hadn’t been able to bend Promise and her friends to her will, she’d assured them that she would mount a crusade to put a stop to their plans. And she’d insinuated a campaign also against anyone who had succumbed even partially to the disease…like Peter.

  It was that threat that had put Peter and Promise on the road, determined to get to New Jersey and bring back the cure that would save Chance.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Peter said.

  Promise smiled gratefully and then turned her attention forward, swallowing the tears before they came. This is the bravest thing you will ever do, she told herself, and what you just did…the leaving…that was the hardest part.

  Then she wondered if that would end up being true.

  “How far is the base?” she asked.

  “About 350 miles. We’ll be going south on 490 and to route 90 which will take us east for about 75 miles, and then a hundred and thirty or so on 81 south. That will drop us halfway into Pennsylvania. Then we’ll probably take 380, and that will get us over into New Jersey,” he said, adjusting the hat on his head. He was protected from the sun head to toe as a precaution. Too much full sun and his skin became irritated, itchy and raw. “It’s going to take a while…we’ll only make thirty miles or so a day. Thirty would be the optimum, actually. That’s a lot of walking and trotting for these two.”

  “Are they going slow because of the horses?” Promise asked, looking at the Humvees ahead of them. Each truck held two Guardsmen. It seemed like a lot of vehicle for two people, but they were stuffed with supplies and what had become of the mail.

  The horses were walking quickly, but not yet trotting, and easily keeping pace with the vehicles. She wondered if Ash felt any of her anxiety. Most likely he did, but he also had the calming factor of Snow. She was a big, tranquil horse.

  “They go pretty slow anyway, but I think they’re cutting us a little bit of a break, yeah,” Peter said. He’d spent six months with the National Guard before this. He was familiar with their habits, even though he didn’t know any of the Guardsmen in this particular detail. “There have still been instances of finding survivors; not everyone has made it to an outpost. They don’t want to go so fast that they’d miss someone. I don’t think they’re overly concerned with getting anywhere at a particular time, either. I’m sure they prefer this to being cooped up in one place.”

  Promise noticed an odd edge to his voice when he said that last part…about being cooped up.

  “Did you like it?” she asked. “Being on the road with the Guard?”

  “Yes, mostly. It helped me stay occupied. When I was at the base hospital, I started to feel useless and stuck. It wasn’t healthy,” he said.

  “Had you always been adventurous like that? Even before?”

  ‘Before’ needed no explanation. Everyone knew that it meant ‘before the vampires’.

  He laughed and glanced at her. “No, actually. Far from it. Even the college I went to was a local one.” His eyes clouded. “No, I think I was ready to just sit tight where I was. We had everything planned out. Trish and I got married three weeks after I graduated, and she was just about to get her degree when everything happened.” He sighed. “We had a nice little house and good neighbors. My career was going good. We had…we had a lot of fun. I was really looking forward to the whole thing, you know?” He blinked rapidly and ran a hand over his face. “So, no. To answer your question, I was really kind of a homebody…before.”

  Promise considered his profile, and in his obvious regret, she found even more love for him. She’d never expected that part–that love would build and build incrementally over time. If she loved him this much now, how much would she come to love him later? The thought was a little daunting. Especially because she wasn’t even sure if they could even be considered boyfriend and girlfriend. And would a man who’d previously been married be content being a boyfriend? In light of his history, the concept seemed unbelievably
immature.

  “How about you?” he asked her, smiling. “Were you adventurous before?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “The furthest I’d ever been was to Canada once or twice. We didn’t…my family and I…we didn’t really go anywhere. No vacations to the tropics or anything like that. Dad always said that the lake was as good as the ocean and Mom always said that you could find anything you needed right in the ’Burg.” She smiled and shrugged. “I always wanted something more, some excitement, but now that I’ve had it…I wish every day that things could go back the way they were. I’d never complain about being bored, ever again.”

  They both became quiet, thinking about regret and the things that were long gone. The horses’ hooves clunked solidly on the pavement and Promise watched as one of the Guardsman gazed idly through binoculars at the woods two miles distant.

  She gathered the courage for her next question. It had been troubling her for the last two days as they’d made preparations to go with the Guard. But she hadn’t known when or how to broach the subject.

  “Peter, the night we caught Chance, I had a dream,” she said and then cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask you–”

  His face became shuttered and watchful. That night had bad associations for him–it had been the first time since being bitten that he’d felt the need, the hunger, in full force. As he and Promise had struggled in that tiny space, pushed to the breaking point by fear and anger as the vampires raged around them, he’d felt the disease begin to heat up his brain and make his blood seem like foreign matter in his own veins. He’d felt the vampiric rage and almost turned on her…but in her own panicked distress, she hadn’t know. He vowed she never would.

  “You dreamed I had a daughter,” he said. He kept his gaze straight ahead and offered no more. At eighteen, Promise was not nearly experienced enough to know how to draw someone out in conversation. Especially if it seemed like a conversation that person was reluctant to have.

  So she just nodded.

  It was a long time before he said, “I can’t talk about that right now.”

  Promise felt her face get hot, and she looked away to the woods on the other side of the road. The terrain was changing as they got outside of Wereburg proper, becoming farmland and forest. Desolate. Deserted.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s not…it’s just that I can’t talk about it. It’s not because of you. It’s just…” he trailed off and shook his head.

  “I understand,” she said. “It’s okay.” But she didn’t understand; it was just something to say, to smooth it over. Why was it complicated? If he had a daughter as she’d dreamed, why wouldn’t he just say so? Even if he’d lost her and was heartbroken…why not just say? She felt shallow and dumb and much younger even than her eighteen years.

  They rode in silence for the rest of the morning, and she began to wonder if she’d miscalculated in her decision to make this journey with someone she barely knew. She did love him, she was sure of that much. She’d been drawn to him from the first time they spoke, and her feelings had grown from there. But was that enough? She wished distractedly for her mom, and that made her even more anxious as she reached to touch the pink scrunchie that held her hair back.

  She tried to put away the feelings that she was able to pinpoint as immature self-doubt and focus on her task at hand. She hadn’t done this–undertaken this journey–out of a lovesick desire to be with Peter, after all.

  She was doing this for Chance.

  Chapter 2

  At midday, Peter kicked Snow into a canter to catch up to the nearest Humvee. Ash threw his head up and blew nervously at the sudden movement, startled and unsure. Promise leaned down over his neck and caressed his shoulder, murmuring reassurance. She was near tears herself at Peter’s abrupt departure.

  The morning had been a strain as she’d tried to appear outwardly blasé about the dark haze that had seemed to come over Peter’s mood. Inwardly, doubts cropped up in her thoughts as steadily as dandelions in a neglected springtime yard.

  Then he was riding back to her, smiling.

  “We’re going to stop for an hour or so. Give these guys a break,” he said and stood in the stirrups. Ahead, the brake lights were flashing as the Humvees stopped dead center on the road. No need to pull to the shoulder anymore. “Give us a break, too. It’s been more than a week since I’ve ridden this long. Must be even worse for you.”

  She shrugged and patted Ash’s neck again. “I’m okay,” she said, and her tone was even and neutral. She guided Ash past where Snow stood then dismounted. She was a little sore, a little stiff…but she didn’t let it show. Inside, she was a roil of misgiving. When Peter had rode back, smiling, she’d felt a blanketing of relief, almost knee-shaking in its depth–and it annoyed her. Why should her mood be so dependant on another’s?

  The soldiers were leaving their vehicles, stretching and surveying the area. The soldier from the passenger side of the Humvee Promise and Peter had been behind all morning turned and saw her. He waved. She waved back.

  “Promise?” Peter said from behind her.

  She turned and looked at Snow. “Yeah?” she said. She couldn’t meet Peter’s eyes. Her feelings were in too much of a stew, and she feared she’d cry. The frustration and homesickness and anger were too much taken all at once like a pill too large to swallow.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, dismounting. He stood in front of her and put a hand under her chin. “I was moody and…I really am sorry.” He lifted her chin until she had to look at him. “Will you please forgive me? I think I was just nervous, and I don’t even know why. Just moody. I made a mess of the morning.”

  “I just don’t understand what you were thinking. I thought you were mad or regretful that you’d decided to do this. You’re not under any obligation; you know that, right? It’s my little bother who stands to benefit; you don’t get anything out of this…I know that,” she said. Her eyes were guarded. “I didn’t ask you to do this.”

  “I know that,” he said, and his voice was filled with frustrated anger. “I don’t know why I got so…I kept trying to think of ways to break the silence, but everything sounded so stupid in my head, but then the longer it went on, the harder it seemed and…” He looked down and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “It’s not that I don’t want to do this with you. It’s not that at all.” He looked up and was calm again. “Can we just call this morning a wash and start over? I really am sorry. There is–literally–nowhere I’d rather be than here with you. Is that clear enough?”

  She gazed at him for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. Clear enough.”

  He brushed a loose swirl of hair behind her ear. “Your ponytail is coming undone,” he said and leaned to kiss her. She kissed him back, and as they kissed, he pulled the pink scrunchie from her hair, letting it cascade like heavy black velvet down her back. Then, sight unseen, as their lips remained pressed firmly together, her gathered her hair back into a neat ponytail, doubled the scrunchie over and pulled it on. He broke the kiss to look into her eyes. “There,” he said; his voice low and rumbling. “All fixed.”

  She smiled, and he felt something loosen in his heart as relief flowed through him.

  “Are you two going to eat? Or stand there and kiss all day?” the soldier said, calling across to them from the front of the Humvee. A map had been spread on the hood and anchored with rocks. The soldier next to him laughed into his hand.

  Promise blushed, and Peter waved. “We’ll be right there!” he said. Then he looked back down at Promise. “Okay? You’re not mad? Or upset or anything?”

  “No,” she said, “I’m not mad or upset or anything. Just hungry.”

  “Then let’s eat,” he said and grinned. The grin softened into a smile as he continued to gaze at her.

  “What?” she said, smiling back.

  He sobered completely, and his eyes seemed to darken as his brows drew together. “I love you, Promise,” he said. It was the first time he’d said it, although not the
first time she’d felt it.

  She blinked up at him. “I love you, too.”

  He cupped the back of her head under her ponytail and kissed her again. “Good,” he said. He took her hand as they walked to the Humvee.

  “You two are making me jealous,” the soldier from the passenger seat said, grinning amiably. His nametag read ‘Billet’. “I might have to start kissing on Miller over there.” He indicated a soldier from the lead Humvee.

  She looked up from where she’d been sorting through a basket of food on the shoulder of the road. She gave Billet the finger.

  The soldiers were all dressed in uniforms of solid black–black cargo-style pants over black boots and black T-shirts covered by short coats that didn’t look very warm to Promise. The thickest part of the coat was a thick, stiff collar–at least six inches high–that would cover the soldiers’ throats. At the moment, they each had the collar disengaged and hanging down their backs.

  “In your dreams, Billet,” Miller said.

  “In my nightmares, you mean,” Billet said and laughed. The soldier next to him laughed, too. His nametag read ‘Shields’.

  Miller shook her head. “Idiots,” she said with disinterested disgust. “Rike? You want cheese or peanut butter?” she called across to the front of the second Humvee, the one she’d been riding shotgun in. A tall man with ‘Riker’ on his nametag was marking something in a notebook.

  “Thrill me,” he said mildly, without looking up. “Hey, Billet…was that Hamlet we just passed?”

  “Yessir, Hamlet. Should put us at Masonville right around four, four fifteen,” Billet said, his finger on the map.

  “Long as one of those horses doesn’t lame up,” another voice came from a copse of bushes about fifteen feet off the road. Another soldier squatted there, facing the woods fifty feet distant. “Unless you think we can fit it in a Humvee if it does,” he said and stood, drawing up his pants. He was not as tall as Riker, but he was thick through the shoulders and chest; like a bulldog. His nametag read ‘Evans’.