What Happens in the Darkness

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  “What have you done?” he demanded. He didn’t care what she chose to eat—as repulsive as her choice of rat was—but he’d told her not to move. He wouldn’t let her feed earlier because she wasn’t ready. But this? Rat’s blood?

  “Where did you get the rat?”

  She pointed at the door.

  “You left the room?”

  She nodded, and said meekly, “Yes. I was hungry. I’m sorry!”

  He moved across the room and knelt beside her.

  Natalia looked one way and then the other, avoiding looking at him.

  “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Why?” His loyalty to Martin had been unfailing, and he’d expected the same. His ability to oppose or defy Martin had taken years to master. It was so ingrained in him not to disobey his creator that any opposition tore him apart. Now his hatred for Jeff outweighed any loyalty to Martin.

  But this—this—how could she so easily disobey him? How could she not listen to Patrick—her master, her creator? She should be willing to die for him. She should be willing to obey him without a second thought, even if it meant her own death. This was something he could have no doubts about. He needed to implicitly trust his servants.

  The experiment had ended badly. He wondered if she was a fluke, or if all the enemy would behave this way. Maybe Martin had been right; maybe the enemy soldiers hated Americans so much that even as vampires, they would be disloyal. Patrick would have to test it again, on another foreigner, to see if one could be loyal. He needed the enemy’s natural hatred of Americans yet at the same time a fierce loyalty to him. He didn’t know if this combination could exist. Ironic, since the vampire bloodline, so to speak, supposedly traced back to Europe, which was where so many of the enemy came from. But it had become so diluted through the years, the loyalty had changed, the bloodline thinned.

  He took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. In one fluid movement he grabbed her head. She pulled back and tried to push him away. She slipped in the pool of rat’s blood, and her hands fell to her sides to catch herself.

  Twisting her head sharply, he snapped her neck, her spinal column cracking like a thick branch.

  But she wasn’t dead. Not quite a full vampire yet, but it was still impossible to kill her as though she were still human. She stared at him with terror in her eyes, her paralyzed body unable to defend itself.

  Still holding her head, now listing to one side on a jagged and useless pair of shoulders, Patrick leaned in and sank his teeth into her throat, tearing out meaty chunks of flesh and grisly tissue, the gaping hole leaking a concoction of her remaining vital fluids and rat’s blood.

  He carried her body outside. Whatever the animals didn’t devour would be burned away the next morning by the relentless rays of the sun.

  Patrick headed back toward the coast to continue his experiment.

  Chapter 10

  Jeff waited until noon.

  In all the years he’d known Martin, in all their conversations, all those questionnaires he’d had Martin complete in the name of science and research, Jeff realized he knew very little about Martin, or about vampires.

  Almost nothing.

  He stood facing the cell, standing in what until recently had been covered by a security gate, once impenetrable. And now, everything was exposed. He shut his eyes and wondered what his father would have done. Wondered how he would have felt. Would he have given in so easily? Would he have found a better solution? Jeff wondered if he’d made the right choice. And it was, after all, his decision. No one had even known of Martin’s existence, it had been handled so covertly. So no one would have known, had Jeff chosen not to reveal his little secret.

  Was he releasing a virus? Would it be worth it, a few days from now? A few weeks? Months?

  There was no reason for him to be afraid. So why did he tremble as he peered into the black hole of their former jail? Why did the thought of this new extended family make his skin tingle, gooseflesh popping on the surface of his skin like a rampant disease?

  He’d waited until noon because the sun would be full. Did they know this? Were they forced to sleep, lulled by some internal clock? Or did the sun only damage the skin, and the need for sleep only biological, a nocturnal reaction? Martin had told him Jeff had been able to manipulate time for them—were they able to reverse that?

  He crept through the living room toward the cave they still slept in, curled and coiled like rattlesnakes on the dirt floor. He held a flashlight but was terrified to turn it on, not knowing what leering, grinning thing might be waiting in the darkness.

  The only times spent down there were after the original family were ushered into a secure holding area so the caves could be explored through the years, visual inspections made of possible escape routes.

  Virtually no one knew about his work, but there had been a handful, those few who had helped him with his daily care for them because he couldn’t have functioned alone. But as unusual as his work was, his colleagues treated him with esteem, and those entrusted to his supervision handled their job with secrecy and respect. His primary task had essentially been that of babysitter, something that had disturbed him in the beginning—this was not the military career he had envisioned when he’d signed on. His own father had been ridiculously secretive about his responsibilities when he’d held this job, so much so Jeff barely knew what to expect when he’d later accepted this same assignment. Little did he know the job was his for life.

  So, like a parent, he kept them company, and he fed them. He was grateful they only needed to drink every few weeks to sustain their energy, but given the opportunity, like every other creature on the planet, they preferred dining more frequently than that. And when times were especially good—when the prisons were especially overcrowded or the seedier neighborhoods overrun with homeless families—Martin and his family enjoyed a veritable feast.

  Jeff crept into the cave, listening to the sounds of sleep. He turned on the flashlight but cupped the beam with his palm, not really wanting to see. He slowly lifted his hand and swept the light over the crowd. Hundreds of sleeping bodies were spotlighted in the wake of the beam, and he gasped, nearly dropping the flashlight.

  Backing out of the cave, he turned abruptly at its mouth and headed toward the safety of the exit. Before he stepped even more than a foot, a hand clamped down on his. He suppressed a yell and tried to pull away, but the grip on his arm was unrelenting, and much more powerful than he was.

  Martin stepped out of the shadows and allowed Jeff to enter the living room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jeff exhaled, wiping his trembling lip, bleeding where he’d bitten down on it. “I’m sorry, I-I was just looking.”

  “Looking?”

  Jeff snatched a glimpse into the cave’s blackness and quickly back to Martin. “There sure are a lot of you.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I … thought it would be safe.”

  “Safe. Jeff, there are light sleepers in there. Some sleep even lighter than I do. And many of them haven’t yet been trained. Going down there at any time, day or night, is incredibly stupid. Do you understand?”

  “This is getting out of hand.”

  “Out of hand?” Martin glared at him for a moment. “It’s out of your hands. Is that what’s disturbing you? I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed.”

  “I didn’t mean—what I meant was—” He puffed out his cheeks, shaking his head.

  “I know what you meant. And I told you before, you can’t have it both ways.”

  Jeff swallowed and looked away for a moment, his cheeks spotted red, his breathing labored. He turned back and said to Martin, “What about after, when this is done?”

  “We’ll deal with it then.”

  “Deal with what? How do you plan to deal with it, Martin? I don’t want to be a vampire.”

  “Not everyone can be a vampire, Jeff. What would we eat?”

  “That isn’t funny!�
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  Martin’s face hardened. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  They stared at each other, neither willing to look away, a childish game of will or chance.

  “Go back to bed. I’ve gotta go. We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  “No—this conversation’s over. Don’t bother coming back tonight, Jeff. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  Jeff finally broke the lock, averting his eyes. He turned and stormed out, his head held high in a bravado posturing that Martin attempted as well, but the efforts were lost because neither saw the other. Both were absorbed in their own selves.

  And in the darkness of the cave, in the black maw of the hole where natural light would never penetrate, a pair of eyes peered out into the artificial light of the living room. Angry eyes, attached to a bitter, hateful vampire, one wanting nothing more than to seek revenge.

  And he knew how he would do it.

  ***

  Jeff returned to his own living room, in his own little cottage. A tumbler of whiskey in one hand, a photo of him and his father, Walter, in the other. He swallowed the booze and set the glass on the table, now focusing on the picture. His fingers trailed the outline of the frame and then caressed his father’s cheek. The picture had been taken when Jeff was about twelve. Father and son stood side by side, Jeff’s head barely reaching the man’s shoulder, the boy not attaining his growth spurt for several more years. Grinning like a harlequin, holding a prize trout proudly in muddy fingers coated in worm guts. Walter’s hands were clamped on his son’s sunburned neck, and a father had never looked prouder.

  Jeff refilled his glass and then emptied it more quickly than he had last time.

  Drinking in the afternoon wasn’t a concern. There wasn’t much at all to be concerned with these days.

  The scouts had returned before sunup and had apparently reported back to Martin. But Jeff was furious Martin wasn’t sharing information with him. Even worse, Martin had even asked Jeff to leave while meeting with his family. Had said it was for Jeff’s own safety.

  That was yet another reason Jeff had decided to sneak down into that cave—to try to keep an eye on that ever-growing horde. They were out of control, in attitude and in number. Jeff’s lack of control frustrated him more than anything else.

  He wondered how difficult it was going to be to contain them again once this war was finally over. This was a paramount concern. There was no conceivable way for man and vampire to coexist—this hadn’t even crossed his mind. That would be like asking a wolf and a sheep to share space; it would never work. Even worse, a ravenous wolf that hadn’t eaten well in a long time and was studying the poor, hapless sheep for weaknesses. It flew in the face of the laws of nature, this attempt at human-vampire relations. If there was one thing he had learned in those years spent studying and guarding Martin, it was that vampires are freaks of nature. There was nothing natural or normal about them. Natural selection had weeded their kind out, destroying them centuries earlier, and for good reason. They truly were freaks, unnatural disasters, and the only way to deal with a plague like this was to keep it locked up, scrutinized.

  Yet he had allowed it to escape. No, not escape. Had released it himself.

  He was responsible for releasing this freak of nature.

  Water trickled from the side of the tumbler and formed a ring on the surface of the table. He traced the outline of the glass rim with his thumb. With one last swallow he emptied it.

  The time had come for him to become nocturnal. Time to awaken at night, with them, so he could follow them, discover what they were up to. It would be better than sneaking around like some shadowy ghoul, stealing glimpses of sleeping corpses, padding about in the darkness like a boogeyman.

  It was time to make Martin understand who was in charge.

  The problem was, Jeff didn’t believe he was in charge. Not any longer.

  And that frightened him.

  ***

  A few blocks from where they had fled the carnage of the vampires, Janelle and the little girl hid in an apartment building. They’d made their way through blackened streets, a city still crippled by a lack of electricity, and they discovered an abandoned second-floor apartment. Actually, just about every apartment in the city was now abandoned.

  They groped blindly in the darkness, trying not to collide with unseen furniture, eyes straining to focus on a nonexistent source of light. Her hand instinctively reached out and tried to locate a light switch.

  The little girl, now without a father, presumably without a mother, clung to Janelle. And Janelle maternally stroked the girl’s hair and spoke soothingly, just like her own mother used to do after a nightmare or during a bout with the flu.

  She laid the girl on the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Janelle didn’t even know the girl’s name because she wasn’t talking, no matter how much Janelle coaxed.

  Within minutes the child was asleep. Janelle made sure the front door was locked and then checked the windows as well. She didn’t know if that would keep out vampires but sure hoped it would. She lay beside the little girl and closed her eyes, falling asleep moments later as sheer exhaustion and the shocking comfort of a warm bed overpowered her fear.

  ***

  Dusk.

  Again.

  Ignoring Martin’s warning, and against his better judgment, Jeff crept quietly back to the cell.

  He’d passed no one on his way to the building. Not a soul. The few remaining survivors had apparently fled. He was filled with dread when he made the mistake of imagining what was in the cave …

  Moving quietly through the cell’s living room, he heard Martin’s strong voice resonating off the cavern walls. He reached the cave’s entrance and gasped at what he saw.

  Hundreds of vampires filled the space, standing shoulder to shoulder in rapt attention at Martin’s words. He couldn’t imagine how seven had created this vast number; how was that even possible? In three nights? He shook his head. If seven were capable of this … what would hundreds be capable of?

  Jeff read the adoration in their eyes—it was unmistakable and unrelenting. They revered Martin. They watched, wide-eyed, mouths agape, arms extended toward him as if they were having a religious experience. Which they probably were.

  “There will be swift punishment,” Martin bellowed, “for any who disobey. I know you can feel this. You know I speak the truth. So always trust your feelings, and never disobey me.”

  The crowd nodded their agreement, heads bobbing and shaking like a roomful of Parkinson’s patients.

  It appeared Martin was nearing the end of his speech, and Jeff was sorry he’d missed it.

  A man with a Snoopy T-shirt streaked with blood approached from the crowd. “Master? May I speak?”

  “Never call me master,” Martin said. Then he nodded, gesturing his approval toward the man. “To know I have your support and faith is all I ask. You may all call me Martin. Or you may call me Father.”

  The man in the Snoopy T fell to his knees and held up his hands. “Father, I smell it. I smell it! I can’t stand it … it’s making me insane. I want it … I need it. Why do you withhold it? Why?”

  People in the crowd echoed their agreement, shouting yes!, moaning shouts of hungry!

  “Feed me!” a woman screamed, falling to her knees, clutching her stomach.

  Martin raised his voice as he again raised his arms. “Tonight! You will feed tonight. And yes, you do smell it.” These last few words he spat, the anger growing on his face, his eyes dark creases on his handsome features.

  “You smell the blood,” he said hoarsely, “and you smell the flesh …” His voice hardened, deepened, and there was a coldness to it that froze Jeff’s bones.

  Martin slowly turned at the waist until he faced Jeff. His features were unrecognizable—tinged with hatred and venom, chiseled on a face of granite, spittle trickling down his chin, and he didn’t even seem aware of it. He seemed filled with a blood craziness Jeff hadn’t even seen durin
g one of their feeding frenzies.

  Jeff backed away from the monster in front of him. Martin’s eyes glowed blood-red embers, and his face was leathery, deeply lined. His lips were pushed back by protruding canines in a parody of a smile that now seemed too large for his mouth.

  But there was no smile on that face. The hatred in his eyes attested to that.

  People in the crowd followed Martin’s movements, and many spotted Jeff at the same time. Some slowly stood while others sprang, hands extended and bent into claws, jagged nails at the ready for tearing and ripping. Their new fangs dripped saliva. The lust for blood—his blood, Jeff’s blood—was unmistakable.

  Jeff took another step back and then stood, frozen, facing Martin and the crowd. Blood drained from his face and rushed to his heart, overworking the organ so fiercely he felt its painful thud on the pressure points in his head and throat. Breathing was suddenly difficult. He gasped, searching for air but never taking his eyes off the crowd.

  “Enough!” Martin yelled at them, and they immediately settled down, their desire to please Martin still stronger than their desire for Jeff’s blood.

  “I told you,” he said to the crowd, “there are some you cannot have. Him you cannot have! Do you understand?”

  Silence in the room.

  “Do you understand?” he screamed, and this time there were nods and emphatic yeses.

  Martin rushed Jeff, snagging him by the throat, dragging him away from the entrance of the cave and into the living room.

  Jeff pummeled him, pounded his arms and face, struggled with his fingers, but the grip around Jeff’s throat was unrelenting, Martin’s strength interminable. Jeff fought with everything he had, but it felt as though he wasn’t fighting him at all. Stars danced on the air in front of his eyes.

  “Please …” he moaned, feeling his resolve ebbing, losing control of his legs, knowing, in those final seconds, that he was about to die. A flash of blue, and he was suddenly unconscious.