“And draw attention to ourselves,” Martin said. “We’d be revealed much too soon. In fact, we were discussing this idea right before you joined us.”
“Great, Martin. That’s really terrific. This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Vampires reluctant to hunt.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Martin said.
Jeff’s tongue rode roughly over dry, cracked lips, his mouth too dry to moisten them. “Can you please explain the problem here?”
“When we were your prisoners and you were the one feeding us, there were only seven mouths. And you brought us the lowest of the species.”
“Not always,” Jeff said. “Often it was prisoners. But sometimes …”
“Sometimes what?” Martin leaned forward. “What else?”
“Sometimes it was the indigent. Bowery bums, halfway houses. And on rare occasions … homeless shelters. One time we—” Jeff pursed his lips.
“One time you what?” Rebecca asked.
“One time … an orphanage.”
“An orphanage?” she cried. “You never brought children!”
“Yeah I did. Twice. Both times boys. About seventeen years old. They just looked like young inmates.”
“You fucking hypocrite!” Martin cried. “You screamed and yelled at us when we brought kids back.”
“Oh fuck off already. They weren’t ‘kids,’ they were troublemaking assholes already breaking laws and spending time in juvie. Kids in gangs. So the fuck what?”
“You’re an asshole,” Martin spat.
“Yeah, like you give a shit—you’re the fucking hypocrite!” Jeff said. “You’d eat anyone I put in front of you.”
Lana’s hands were clasped behind her head, and her smile was lopsided, smug. “I knew it. I knew he was an asshole.”
“Those boys were trouble,” Jeff said. “They would’ve ended up in jail anyway.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “You’ll try to justify anything, won’t you? Whatever, Jeff. But why are you mentioning this now?”
“To show you you’re not so high and mighty! To show you you’ll eat anything.”
“Not intentionally,” Rebecca cried. “That was a rotten trick. We wouldn’t have done it on purpose.”
“Get off it, Rebecca. Look me in the face and tell me you didn’t kill children when you were out recruiting vampires. You can’t lie—I know you did. So stop your bullshit, and let’s go hunt. I can’t go alone—I’m too weak. You have to help me.”
“Give it a rest,” Martin said. “We’re not hunting. You especially aren’t hunting. Not in your condition.”
Jeff opened his mouth again, his eyes hard and filled with fury, but before he could say anything else, Dagan spoke up.
“He’s right y’know,” Dagan said, pointing toward Jeff. “We have t’eat, eventually. And we’ve never been particular about who we choose. Why is everything different now? Why all of a sudden does it matter?”
“Because there are too many of us,” Martin said quietly.
“No, sorry, doesn’t matter,” Dagan said. “Whether y’have a large family or a small one, y’still put food on the table. And if ya dun feed ’em now, you’re gonna end up with a crowd of vampires too weak to defend theirselves.”
“The leprechaun is right,” Rebecca said, wrinkling her nose at Dagan.
“We’ll just have to be careful,” Dagan continued. “Make it as quick as possible.”
“Why do we have to kill them?” Jeff asked. “Why can’t we just take what we need? To survive.”
“Because if you take just enough, eventually you create another vampire. I don’t think we should be creating more at this point,” Martin said.
Paula said, “Several hundred vampires that split up and live around the world can spread out pretty thin, don’t you think?”
“We don’t know what the rest of the planet looks like,” Jeff said. “The states struck back for a while there. We destroyed half of Europe and most of the Middle East before we were overrun.”
“We need to talk to the rest of the crowd,” Martin said. “Update them. And then we hunt.”
***
They returned to the Cross County Mall—not expecting to see people but wanting to try there first.
Of course no one was there.
Not even the bodies from the night before, Patrick observed, noting also the bonfire of bones and body parts that hadn’t quite cooked down.
He smirked. “Do they think they can hide?”
“Where do you think they went?” Kem asked, slowly searching the area from where he stood.
“Oh, I know where they went. Safety in numbers, right? Or so they believe.”
“Manhattan?”
Patrick nodded. “And that’s where we’re going.”
“Why don’t we just leave them? We can go south. Or west. There’s a whole country out there!”
“Oh, we will. But for tonight we go where the food is. I don’t want to take a chance that not everyone will get to eat.”
“When do we begin your plan?” Kem asked. As a vampire, his Chinese accent was lighter but was still there.
Patrick kicked at the funeral pyre, scattering the remains of the dead. He jumped back when ash scattered, raining down on his highly polished boots. “We’ll need to find a place first, to set up. A quiet, remote area where we won’t be disturbed.”
“But for now?” Narin asked, running her fingers through her short dark hair. She stepped up beside him and wiped his boot clean with a cloth she pulled out of her pocket.
Patrick laughed. “For now? Manhattan!”
Chapter 25
More than three thousand vampires left the relative safety of the army base in search of food, breezing through dense groves of evergreens and tangling brambles, oak and birch corpses devoid of greenery, barely surviving the harsh winter months.
Shortly after leaving the base, the crowd of vampires reached the end of the Major Deegan Expressway and approached the Third Avenue Bridge. On the other side of this short bridge: Manhattan.
The roads were remarkably clear, Martin noticed as they crossed the bridge. Gone were the skeletal remains of cars and trucks and the decaying bodies that had beset the streets. Traffic was sparse and moved rapidly—New Yorkers were again headed nowhere fast.
Civilization was returning quickly, speeding toward normalcy, or what passed for it these days.
Martin’s sharp sense of smell detected every scent in the area: burgers cooking (he wondered where they had found the meat), car exhaust sagging in the air, the salty pollution of the East River. Traffic was denser here, so he led the crowd away from the Drive and into Harlem, 168th Street and Park Avenue, beneath the “el,” the elevated train pillars. The streets were gray and bleak, the buildings a disaster. Even the ones that had sustained minimal damage looked uninhabitable—entire façades missing, or doors falling off frames, windows busted in. He wasn’t sure what had caused this—either some blight, perhaps the remnants of pre-war shattered lives. Was this fallout from a bomb, or leftover fragments of life in the projects? The dreariness, desolation, the filth on the subway columns, the graffiti—even that was devoid of color. It was as if hope was afraid to present itself this far north of Manhattan.
Broken glass spoiled the sidewalks and empty lots. Wrecked shopping carts lay overturned in the streets. Three-wheeled baby carriages leaned against fire hydrants.
People lay around, propped in doorways or huddled around trashcan fires beneath the el. But pickings were slim for such a large group of vampires. Except for the occasional plume of breath, it was almost impossible to know whether these people were even alive.
“Let’s go,” Martin said, leading them south.
***
The busyness of the city returned, a weak caricature of what it had been before the war. Cleaning crews worked the streets, removing bodies and gutted cars and crumbled building remnants. But the majority of people didn’t seem interested in rules or laws
, didn’t seem concerned by the kids rioting in the streets at all hours of the night, by the constant looting, the endless trashcan fires.
Not that Janelle missed school, but she missed order. Normalcy. And she knew seven- and eight-year-old kids belonged in bed at three in the morning, not running around in Times Square, and belonged in school during the day. People fought in the streets, usually over something stupid. Like the two ladies who spotted the handbag at the same time and resolved the matter with blows to the face. It didn’t matter that the bag had tire tracks on it, or that it was torn on the side. One yelled, “A Coach bag!” and the other decided she had to have it.
There were no police. No people handing out flyers proclaiming “Jesus Saves!” Just fighting and stealing and cursing and raping … women chased into back alleys … Janelle heard their screams. But it happened so often now it had become almost routine, in a terrifying way. She avoided crowds, especially crowds of men. Especially at night.
Vampires no longer seemed to be her biggest worry.
Thomas was just as jaded as Janelle. “We have to get out of here.” They sat inside their locked apartment with the lights off, watching a Jim Carrey DVD. It seems the return of electricity had once again provided brain-dead entertainment.
“Where should we go?”
He shrugged. “Someplace warm. Florida.”
“Uh huh. Florida’s nice. I been there before. My Aunt Joy and Uncle Bill live in Tampa.”
“Let’s make a plan!” Thomas said, muting the TV.
“Okay!” She smiled and sat up on the sofa.
They stared at one another, waiting for the other to say something.
“So … how do we make a plan?” Janelle said.
He made a dunno noise and shrugged. “I thought you were gonna make a plan.”
“Me?” She sank back into the cushions, puffed out her lips. “Well let’s see. I guess … first—you got a map?”
“Just the one of New York City.”
“Oh. Then we need maps, I guess.”
“Where do we get maps?”
She scratched her head. Her hair felt gritty and greasy, and she tried to remember the last time she’d washed it. “A map store?”
“There’s no such place. You ever seen a map store?”
“Well no … wait! I remember. We need an atlas.”
“What’s that?”
“A giant book of maps. My dad uses one when we go on trips.”
“Where do we get one?”
Janelle thought. “Library?” She grabbed the Yellow Pages from the shelf beneath the coffee table and flipped open to the Blue pages. “Okay, libraries. I forget—where are we?”
“Sixty-Ninth and Fifth.”
They’d chosen to squat in a rather luxurious building overlooking Central park. Their fifteenth-floor apartment was beautiful—and intact. The furniture was comfy and too big, and even the piano worked. Not that they played it—too noisy to risk—but it was still fun that it was there. And best of all, they had their own bedrooms. Her bed was huge and high off the floor, and at night she snuggled beneath a toasty feather comforter.
Janelle skimmed the library listings. “There’s one on Fifty-Eighth and Lex.”
“You want to go now?”
She looked at her watch. “It’s after eight. It’ll be closed.”
He gave her a strange look. “Janelle, nothing is closed anymore. If it’s locked, we just break in.”
She laughed. “I keep forgetting. Besides, it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like doing stuff like that.”
“Everyone else is doing it.”
“I don’t care.”
“Let’s just go. The quicker we can make a plan and get out of here, the better.”
She stumbled blindly through the dark living room and looked outside. Fifth Avenue was so quiet, so peaceful. Snow was falling, and a light blanket already covered the ground. It looked pure, beautiful.
How deceptive snow could be.
“Wonder what happened to the animals,” she said quietly.
“Hmm?”
“In the zoos. I was wondering what happened to them. It doesn’t look like Central Park got hit too hard.” From their fifteenth-floor apartment, the view of the park was perfect.
“There it is,” she said, pointing. About five blocks away was the Central Park Zoo.
“They probably just let the animals go.”
“Seals and polar bears? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know then. But I do know what you’re gonna say next.”
She grinned. “Let’s go see.”
***
They reached the end of the Third Avenue Bridge and came upon the sign pointing them toward Manhattan. Martin stopped the procession. His leaders—Jeff, Rebecca, Lana, Dagan, and Paula—stood by his side. The rest waited patiently for orders.
Martin closed his eyes, head tilted toward the sky, the strength of the moon filling his senses.
“What is it?” Lana asked.
“Something’s wrong.” Martin shook his head and held his hand up.
“Like what?” Lana asked. “What’s wrong?”
Martin sniffed the air, his nose crinkling. He formed fists, barely aware of it. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “I can’t explain what I’m feeling … but—”
“Should we go back?” Dagan asked.
Martin turned to face his crowd. They stood with loyalty, waiting his command. They would go back if he told them to—but they were famished, and their bloodlust was pervasive. To go back now would be a mistake. But to go forward? Would that be a bigger mistake?
“One hour!” he announced, knowing their sense of direction and timing would be impeccable. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”
In small groups they stepped into traffic, and even at that late hour cars were zipping in and out of Manhattan. Horns blared—the signal of every NYC driver—and cars had to swerve to avoid hitting the vampires.
Within minutes the crowd had disbursed until only Martin and his core group remained.
“You sure this is a good idea?” Lana asked, raven hair whipping in the wind and snow. Martin felt compelled to touch it. “Just a minute ago you told us something was wrong.”
“What choice did I have? My feeling that something’s wrong is just that—a feeling. I couldn’t make them wait because of that. They have to eat.”
“Shall we go?” Lana asked the group.
They headed into Manhattan.
***
The entrance to the zoo had once been through a small turnstile, and that was gone. No walls separated the zoo from the rest of Central Park, although the animals had been housed in individual buildings or reserves.
Eerily quiet. As if the rest of New York had forgotten about the park, about the zoo. Time seemed to stand still here. Janelle and Thomas crossed beneath the animal menagerie clock that had stood atop a low tower since before Janelle’s grandmother was a child, her grammy used to tell her.
The smell was horrendous. It reminded her again of that dead mouse she and her dad had discovered beneath the radiator.
Thomas held his nose and grunted. “What’s that smell?”
“Dead animals,” she whispered.
They crept into the zoo, eyes peeled for movement, both realizing how stupid it was to be in the park after dark, both loving the excitement, adrenaline rushing, hearts pounding. They carried flashlights and shined them at various angles.
In the center of the zoo was the seal tank, exposed, surrounded by a waist-high glass fence and a circular metal barrier a bit farther out from the tank. This metal fence was much lower, and they easily scaled it and approached the glass.
Thomas dipped a small branch into the soupy, glutinous water. The odor assaulted them, a stench worse than anything Janelle had ever smelled. Heavy, painful … it seemed to grab her from the inside. She retched, covered her mouth and nose with her forearm.
“Lookit!” Thomas said.
She fol
lowed the direction he was pointing in. A round mass floated by in the dark water in the flashlight beam. An unblinking eye stared back, the corpse drifting away in the current Thomas had created.
“Oh man,” Thomas said. “Was that a seal?”
Janelle nodded and turned away.
“Do you think—” he began to say, but Janelle held up her hand, indicating he should stop talking.
Half a minute later he said, “What is it?”
“I’m listening for sounds. Of life.”
He listened too. “I don’t hear nothing.”
“Me neither.” She wiped tears away with her cuff. “Do you suppose they’re all dead? Do you think any of them escaped?”
Thomas shrugged. “If they escaped, wouldn’t they be killing people?”
“Probably.”
“If they didn’t escape—and if any of them are still alive—they’re gonna be real hungry.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that. Like those dogs you see on the street all the time. Only these animals don’t have a chance to go through garbage cans or anything.”
“We should go,” Thomas said.
“Not yet. I have to see.”
“See what, Janelle? There’s nothing we can do. Even if we find ’em alive. We hafta go.”
“No! I have to see.”
The sparse moon provided a dim path and led them from the seal tank and deeper into the zoo. The electricity had been restored throughout most of New York City, but that didn’t seem to include the zoo, or most of Central Park.
“C’mon,” she said, gripping Thomas’s arm, urging him into the insidious darkness, toward the primate house. She pressed her head against the closed doors and listened.
“Do you hear anything?”
She shook her head and reached for the doorknob. It turned in her hand, and she pushed. The door cracked open several inches. She threw it open, and it smashed against the brick wall.
A gust of wind escaped the death chamber, the putrid air ripe, heavy, thick with rot, of decomposing monkey flesh. Hoards of flies buzzed about crazily in the late November air.
What Happens in the Darkness Page 23
