Michael stood there a moment, stunned. Before last night on the highway, he had fired a gun a total of twice in his entire life.
"That's it!" Kasper cried. "Now that one!" He motioned toward a preppy figure with Ken Doll hair, dressed for a round of golf.
Michael swung the gun around, more quickly this time. The aim did not waver nervously as it had the first time, and he fired. BAM! Still gripping his three-iron, the golfer became instantly headless. Next, in a span of only a few seconds, Michael cleared out a row of two adults and a little boy dressed for a day at the beach. He decapitated the entire group in a rain of plastic and dust.
Kasper was silent a moment. Then, he whispered, "Bloody hell."
Michael turned to him and smiled wickedly. "I think I have it."
“I think you do,” Kasper agreed softly.
chapter twenty-two
As the moon crested the night sky, they returned to Kasper’s place. Michael was relieved to be back indoors. On the outside, he had felt too vulnerable and exposed. He doubted he would ever get back to normal after this, even if he managed to return to Hamilton with Susan. Having finished a dinner of Ramen noodles, they were now on their second bottle of wine. Michael dizzily wondered if Kasper ever ate anything other than pasta, but decided not to ask. Judging by Kasper’s wolfish features, he might not want to hear the answer.
“This town is shit.” Kasper growled between gulps of wine. “Have you ever seen such a place?”
"Why do you stay, then?" Michael asked.
Kasper laughed bitterly. "Revenge, of course. Besides, where am I going to go now? My own country has abandoned me. They drafted me into doing this thing, for this reason, and then they forgot about me." He swirled the wine around in the wide glass, as red as blood.
“Drafted? Were you in the military?” Michael asked. He was becoming too drunk, too quickly, and felt more than a little queasy. And wine made him too loose with his words. “I hate war. This country loves to fight, and I hate it,” he said and, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“We Germans live for the fight,” Kasper said. He removed a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapped one out. He lit it and took a long draw. “Now, if your girl is with that scum, she's probably as good as dead, anyway. She might not know it yet, but that’s the way it is.” Smoke seeped from his nose, and the image of a dragon briefly popped into Michael’s head.
"The only way to kill one is to remove the head,” Kasper rambled on. “They have these amazing restorative powers. Simply shooting them, even in the head, only slows them down for a bit. The head must be removed."
"Susan's strong," Michael whispered. "It won't come to that."
"For your sake, Michael, I hope it doesn't." Kasper stood and stretched. “Tomorrow night, you’ll go and look for her. Maybe it isn’t too late.” He finished his glass of wine, and then vanished into the next room, trailing his stinking tobacco smoke behind and leaving Michael alone with the wine and his muddled thoughts.
Michael frowned. He would never hurt Susan. He chewed his bottom lip and took another drink of the too-sweet wine. Even if she had become something . . .else, he would never harm her. He would simply leave her instead.
But first, he would warn her about Kasper.
chapter twenty-three
On the other side of the wall, Kasper listened to Michael move about, getting ready for sleep. Just like yesterday, he listened to the soft whisper of his guest’s breathing and marveled over how easy it would be to simply…
No. He would not allow himself to consider that right now. The good doctor may prove to be quite a find. Because of his love of a woman who in all likelihood was either dead or no longer anything resembling human, Michael could draw Devin McCree out of his cowardly hiding place. And finally, Kasper would have his opportunity to finish him off and set things right.
Would things ever be settled between them? Kasper knew they would not until they were both dead and rotting in the dirt. How much loss could two men share? Because of Devin, he had lost everything that mattered, and in the end, he had lost himself, as well.
Kasper had tried to cling to what little humanity he had left, but most had been stripped away when he had watched his own beloved father murder his family. And then, there was Lexi, beautiful, innocent Lexi. Five decades had passed, and he still saw her questioning, terrified face behind his eyelids when he tried to fall asleep.
How he hated Devin McCree for making him into a monster. How he hated Devin’s handsome face. He wanted to carve it from his pretty skull and feed it to the wild dogs.
He remembered their last meeting, sometime during the German occupation. Kasper had been recruited by the Deutsches Reich because of his experience with the creatures who had boldly named themselves “Deathwalkers.” He had come to Northern England in his quest, but his duties had changed. He was no longer an exterminator, but a hunter of live specimens.
He tortured the creatures in the name of the Führer, and Devin quickly became his favorite toy. With every puncture of his knife, Kasper felt he was redeeming himself in the eyes of his slaughtered family. He cut the Deathwalker, he burned him, and he beat him until his face was a ruined mess, only to heal again and again. He fucked him in the shadowy darkness, driving Devin’s face into the dirt, threatening him with daylight if he fought.
When he was finished, Kasper held Devin as he wept.
But as it turned out, Devin loved life, what life he had, more than he had first exhibited.
Convinced that the Deathwalkers were virtually indestructible, the Nazis began sending in their young and their strong for Devin to give them their fatal kiss. Finally, in the spiral of death, he opened Devin’s vein and let the vampire’s blood flow like a fountain into the waiting lips of those dying soldiers.
Kasper knew the ones he had made; he had left his mark upon their bodies. He had branded each one with the “black sun,” the occult symbol the Reich had adopted as one of their own signs—a circle with jagged spokes blooming from its center. Kasper remembered giving Devin the brand, the sharp perfume of burnt skin and the tears from Devin’s eyes. But the Deathwalker had not cried out. He had not uttered a sound at all.
Finally, Kasper had branded himself, a secret connection to the creature he had once loved as his battered pup.
In the end, Himmler’s ideas of an indestructible army never materialized. Many of the Deathwalkers became wild things, like the ones who had attacked the doctor when he rolled into town the other night. They had fled into the darkness and were gone forever.
When Devin managed to escape, Kasper had felt oddly betrayed. The Deathwalker had, after all, professed his eternal devotion to Kasper. It had never occurred to Kasper that it had only been a ploy to get Kasper to lower his guard. He had grown to feel something like trust for Devin.
When Devin vanished into the night, Kasper had thought he’d seen the last of the handsome Deathwalker. But Devin had sought vengeance for the things Kasper had forced upon him and those he had cared for.
It was in some pathetic English village that Kasper could no longer name or cared to name that he heard Devin call him out. Devin had been there since his escape, living in luxury with a man and woman who only wished for a replacement for their dead son. It was then that he realized that he was no longer the hunter, but the prey. Devin had been watching him, waiting, like the cold-blooded snake he was.
***
Kasper still trembled when he thought of his last meeting with Devin.
The moon rose, painting the dank little town in something like daylight, but colder and deadlier. He could hear the man’s boot heels on the deserted stone street because McCree wanted him to hear them. McCree wanted Kasper to be afraid.
The houses, flats, shops and taverns had all learned it was best not to be open after dark. No human risked showing his or her face to the moon. The windows were shuttered, as if guarding against a storm, just as Kasper’s little village along the Moselle River had learned to d
o before the end.
Kasper waited in a damp alleyway behind some dump of a restaurant. His fist clenched until his fingernails cut little half-moon slits in his palms, and the sweat smarted like bee-stings. Rats scavenged the overflowing trashcans, and cats scavenged the rats. The stench of rot and the underlying stink of a burst septic tank made him want to retch.
Devin stepped from the darkness, his long coat flapping behind him like wings. “Kasper. I have had enough. We are not so different, you and I. I want to just walk away. I want you to do the same. It all ends tonight.” Devin’s breath rose like small clouds, obscuring his face for a moment.
Kasper removed his shotgun from beneath his own long coat. His chest felt as though a weight had been placed upon it. His hands trembled “You’re right, Devin. We end this tonight. On my terms.”
Devin laughed and stepped closer. The moonlight touched his eyes, casting them silver for an instant. Although he was the one who was armed, Kasper was suddenly afraid.
“Get away from me, monster!”
“Monster? Now, do I look like a monster?” Devin asked innocently.
“Looks can be deceiving, Devin. You know that, probably better than anyone.” Kasper thumbed the safety off the shotgun. Despite the cold night, his palms were slick with sweat. Sweat also beaded his forehead. It ran down into his eye, stinging, and he blinked it away. When he wet his lips, he tasted salt. Devin moved still closer.
“Why are you doing this? We’re on the same side. We could rule this place, if we wanted.” Devin smiled and looked around. “It’s more beautiful than you realize, living for the night.”
“I don’t want your disease.”
Kasper leveled the gun at Devin’s forehead, but the Deathwalker’s chilly stare did not waver. The night had become silent save for the soft rush of wind kissing the bony branches of the trees, and the blood pumping furiously inside his ears.
He fired. At first, he was positive he had hit Devin. But Devin was quicker than he expected. The shot had only struck the building behind where Devin had been standing, destroying the brick along one corner and creating a cloud of clay dust that floated into the air like rusty smoke.
Kasper glanced around stupidly, searching for the Deathwalker. He cursed himself for being so careless when Devin snatched the gun from his slippery grip. With his other hand, he grabbed Kasper’s throat and began to squeeze.
Kasper gasped for breath as Devin lifted him effortlessly by the neck, so high that his feet left the surface of the road. He held Kasper high over his head for a moment, grinning like a madman. Then, he drove Kasper against the wall of a butcher shop and slammed him down on the pavement, hard on his back.
The pain was exquisite, and for a moment, Kasper blacked out. Bright lights danced behind his eyelids, and his stomach recoiled as if he might throw up. He groaned, trying to find air.
Devin kneeled, leaned over him and shoved the muzzle of the gun under his chin. “Like a newborn,” he whispered.
Kasper blinked up at him, trying to focus. Devin’s small, pointed fangs glinted in the moonlight.
“Kill me, bastard,” Kasper moaned. Thick blood covered his tongue and filled his mouth, making him realize that he was bleeding internally.
Devin drew his finger around Kasper’s lips, an oddly gentle gesture, and then licked the blood from his fingertips. “What did you say?”
“Kill me.” Kasper tried to pull in another breath, but pain laced his ribs and back. He coughed weakly. “I feel like I’m dying anyway.”
Devin pushed the gun deeper into the soft underside of Kasper’s chin and smiled tightly. “You fool. You’re not dying. You more than anyone should know that.” Abruptly, he pulled the gun away and then pulled Kasper’s head back, exposing his sweating throat. He tore the skin there, but the action was tender, and the pain was brief. Blinking up at the gauzy clouds, at the fat moon, Kasper gasped again. Peace settled over him for a moment, but the sensation was foreign. No matter what Devin had said, he knew he was dying. Finally, Devin drew back and thumbed a drop of blood from his bottom lip. Then, he brought his wrist to his mouth and roughly tore it open. “Now. Drink, if you want to live.”
Kasper turned his head, and the blood fell on his cheek and the side of his neck. “Never. Dying is better than living like you.”
“Is it?” Devin asked. He snatched Kasper’s face in his big fingers and forced his gushing wrist to Kasper’s mouth.
Kasper struggled, gagging and sputtering, but he was no match to the power of the Deathwalker. He had to drink, if only to breathe.
After what seemed an eternity, Devin let him fall back to the cobblestone street. “I’ve wasted enough time on you,” he muttered, standing up. He punted Kasper hard in the ribs.
Kasper struggled to sit up. Dizzy and sore, he watched Devin stalk away down the alley. A few feet away, Devin stopped and, swung the gun like a cricket bat, smashing it against a brick wall. He tossed the busted butt back toward Kasper.
“I won’t stop, Devin,” Kasper shouted. “I’ll never stop!”
chapter twenty-four
The city spread out in stains of gray and yellow. Because she had been sleeping, Susan hadn’t been able to take in the desolation of Charlestowne when Devin had driven her through the barren streets.
It was shocking, this rundown version of the place she had once called home for a short time as she left childhood behind. Businesses had closed, including the pizza joint where she had shared too many drinks with a weird girl named Mary Lei. Seeing the little restaurant boarded up, the sign gone to rust and peeling paint brought a pang of sadness to her heart.
The little college she and Peter had attended—Stevens and Brown School of Art and Design—was closed, also. The campus had been nothing more than several majestic-looking, wide-columned buildings over two centuries old. Now, all of the structures were in various states of decay. Windows had been broken out and appeared to be staring into the night, black-eyed and rather sad. For a moment, Susan imagined running to class, late as usual, the sun warming the top of her head.
The student center where she and Peter had taken art history and portrait drawing, and had both volunteered to pose nude for extra credit, was only partially standing. Fire had taken down half of it.
A smattering of businesses remained, only those essential to people who chose to stay in this hellhole, or else could not afford to leave. Bars, bodega groceries that seldom received shipments of fresh food, strip clubs. The only redeeming quality the place held was the shore. Mother Nature had regained her glory over the beaches, devoid of tourists stupid with days off and money to waste. Dunes, untouched for at least a decade, stood tall with reeds and dune grass. Myrtle trees grew wild, having escaped the shears of overzealous pruners. Jasmine vines, still fragrant even in the midst of autumn, snaked up and over fences and porches.
Susan felt invincible, and she supposed to a degree, she was. Her thoughts wanted to go to Michael and what might have been if she had become a mother, but she forced them away. Why dwell on broken dreams?
By way of a rusted and creaking fire escape, Devin led her up five stories to the top of the old and rickety Palmetto Hotel. When she looked up, flakes of rust floated down into her eyes, stinging. Cursing softly, she blinked them away. Once on the flat, gravel roof, their breath billowed like plumes of smoke from their lips in the chilly night wind. Susan’s hair whipped wildly across her eyes and lips, and she tried unsuccessfully to smooth it back.
Devin brushed his hand across her ass, and then squeezed one cheek hard. He pressed his lips to her ear, warming it nicely and said, “Maybe I’ll just throw you down and have you right here.”
Susan laughed. “Hands off, darling. You don’t get anything from me until I decide.”
“As you wish,” Devin replied with a quick bow. He planted a soft kiss on the frozen tip of her nose, and she playfully shoved him away.
The salty scent of the ocean puckered Susan’s lips, but there was something else, s
omething more interesting. She leaned over the brick wall that edged the rooftop and looked down. A man strolled along just below them in the shadows of the alleyway between the hotel and a closed bookshop. Susan detected the smell of blood, body odor and recent sex on the man’s skin. For a moment, she imaged taking him and opening him up just below the jawbone. She imagined drinking, her mouth filling with hot blood.
She shook her head in an attempt to clear away the wretched thought. Just how far from human was she?
She detected another scent, more delicate. He was trailing a woman. Susan squinted, training her eyes on the man. Her mind latched onto his thoughts.
She deserves what she gets. Nobody’ll miss that bitch, anyway.
To move her mind from the man below, she turned away from the edge of the building and looked at Devin. “Why did you choose to come to Charlestowne?” she asked.
Devin kicked at the tarry gravel. “I don’t know, really. Maybe it’s because dead cities draw creatures like me. Maybe it’s because this place is shit and the people are shit.” He laughed with a rough, barking sound. “Really, all I’m doing is clearing the rubbish. Taking out the garbage.”
Susan had never heard him sound so cynical. That was her role. “Every place has its share of shit, Devin. This place is no different.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Devin told her. “I couldn’t very easily leave after setting my eyes on you. I needed a reason to go on, and you became that reason.” He looked away, almost shyly. “Eternity is a long haul, Susan. You have to find your reason, or else you’ll go mad.”
Susan smiled, touched by his openness. “We’re all mad, anyway. Now, come here.”
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