Darklands: a vampire's tale

by Donna Burgess

  “Goddamn it!” she hissed, driving the tool further home. John’s thoughts flooded her mind—a woman’s pretty face above his—Lillian; Devin across a chess board; John holding her as they slow-danced in the parlor. He sensed her intrusion and whispered, “Don’t look, Susan. Don’t be pulled down into the abyss.

  “I’m afraid . . .”

  She tugged her mind from its connection with his and stroked his cheek with her blood-covered hand. He was gone.

  Susan hung her head and wept great, gasping sobs. After a moment, she gathered herself. She ripped off her bloodstained coat, roughly wiped the blood from her hands and tossed it aside. She leapt down and raced to the Rover. She had to get to Michael before Kasper did. She only hoped she wasn’t already too late.

  ***

  She tried to convince herself that Michael had finally given up on her and left Charlestowne, but as she turned onto Atlantic Avenue, it was apparent he, or someone, was there in the house. Smoke curled up from the chimney like breaths on a winter’s night. There was an inviting orange glow illuminating the front windows that indicated life and a warm body inside.

  She screeched the truck to a halt and sprinted to the door. As quite as a wraith, she slipped inside the little beach house and moved into the living room, her feet barely brushing the surface of the matted carpeting. Silently, she approached Michael, who was curled up under a green Army blanket.

  She knelt and watched him a moment. She missed him, although he looked very little like the man she had loved. Beard-roughened cheeks and hair in greasy spikes, he appeared almost deranged, homeless. She had caused this. He did not smell especially fresh, either; the tang of perspiration clung to his skin.

  She reached out and touched his shoulder. “Michael?”

  Michael startled awake, his eyes instantly wide, afraid.

  “It’s me, Michael. It’s Susan.”

  Michael sat up and shoved the blanket aside. He snatched up his glasses from the floor beside him and slid them on with a shaking hand. “Hi.” A small smile touched his lips. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “Listen to me. You need to get out of here. Kasper is coming. He knows where you are, and he thinks you’ve been protecting me here. He’ll kill you.”

  Michael scrubbed his hand through his hair, confused. After a moment, “How does he even know where I am?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She looked around. “Where’s your gun?”

  “Lost it,” Michael said.

  She allowed that to pass without question. There wasn’t enough time. She shook him. “We need to go. Gather what you need. Now.”

  Michael stood, grabbed his shoes and tugged them on without untying them, balancing like a goofy stork on one leg and then the other.

  “Come on,” Susan said.

  “I’m trying.” He grabbed his coat and pulled it on. “Okay,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  She grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat to hustle him up. “We need to—“

  It was too late. The backdoor slider imploded in a rain of glass shrapnel, and Kasper stepped through, his gun leveled at the two of them. He had a huge, insane grin on his face.

  “Surprise!” Kasper said.

  Unsure of what to do, Susan stepped backward, still gripping Michael’s coat, pulling him back with her. But he shrugged away and placed himself between her and Kasper.

  “Don’t, Michael—“

  “No. It’s all right.”

  Kasper barked a short laugh. “All right, Michael? It’s not all right. Not by a fucking long shot.”

  “Devin’s not here.”

  “So?” Kasper stepped closer. He kicked the ottoman out of his path as if it weighed only a few ounces.

  Susan watched him, hating herself for standing behind Michael. Michael was so completely powerless, and yet he was protecting her. Susan reached behind her, for something, anything, to use as a weapon. She felt out of synch, unsure of exactly where she was in the room. She risked a glance behind her, toward the fireplace. There, at the near end of the brick hearth was the tool set—a wrought iron poker, sweeper, shovel and pointed tongs on a rack. She and Michael hid them from Kasper’s view.

  “A shame you didn’t just leave when you had the opportunity,” Kasper told Michael.

  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

  “You believe it now, I’ll bet.”

  “I’m beginning to, yes,” Michael said.

  She slipped inside Michael’s brain for an instant. He was afraid and didn’t know what to do next other than to try and reason with a madman, determined she wasn’t going to get hurt. Touched, she reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his back.

  She knew that Kasper was at least as quick as she was, so the only thing she could hope for was to catch him off-guard. She swung around and snatched up the first fireplace tool she could put her hands on and hoped like hell it wasn’t the sweeper. The poker—perfect. Throwing Michael out of her way, she lunged forward. She swung the poker with all she had, and she was right—Kasper didn’t have time to react. Knowing instinct would make him duck his head out of the way, she had zeroed in lower and the spurred side of the tool was embedded deep in his upper thigh.

  He doubled over and snatched the poker from Susan’s grip, never relinquishing his hold on the gun. “You little bitch! I’ll—”

  She grabbed Kasper’s head in her hands and drove her knee into his nose. It was some remains of her police training, and it worked just as she needed. Kasper sank to his knees, blood pouring.

  “Run, Michael!”

  She turned and fled after him, down the narrow hallway and into a bedroom that had once belonged to a little girl. Kasper fired after them, and the shot tore a hole in wall the size of a basketball, sending splinters of cheap paneling and old drywall into the air.

  Michael latched the door. “That’s going to hold him for about a half a second,” he muttered. But Susan was already up on the bed and kicking out the window that overlooked the front lawn. She ripped down the drapes—Holly Hobby to match the bedspread and pillows.

  “Come on,” she said, putting out her hand. Kasper blew the thin wooden door completely off its hinges just as Michael dove through the window after Susan.

  He landed poorly—the jump was from what would have been two stories because the house rested on pylons, as most of the beach houses did to accommodate the high tides that came with storms. He rolled, his breath leaving him in a soft humph.

  Susan helped him to his feet, and they sprinted to the Rover. She turned the ignition key, and the engine rumbled, as if she had woken it from a heavy sleep.

  Then, it died again.

  “Shit!” Susan cried. Kasper burst through the front door and cleared the porch stairs in a wild leap. The Rover wheezed to life.

  “This is fucking great. Just fucking great!” Michael said. “How did he find out where I was? I’ll bet it was that old man. He wanted me dead, anyway.”

  “Just shut the fuck up, Michael.” Susan glanced in the rear view mirror. Kasper was only ten car lengths behind and gaining. But the old beach roads outside the business district were fairly straight and unencumbered with abandoned vehicles, and she was able to floor it.

  Susan glanced over at Michael; his lips were a straight line in the expression that she had come to know as the “pouting look.”

  “Enough of the sulking. John’s dead,” Susan said. “Put on your fucking seatbelt.”

  “Oh,” Michael muttered, buckling up. He turned and looked behind them. “He’s gaining on us.”

  “We’ll see.” Susan yanked the wheel to the right, and the Rover veered hard, jumping the sidewalk and tearing through a lawn overgrown with tall stalks of dandelions. The fuzz drifted in front of the headlights like tiny snowflakes.

  Michael grabbed the handle above the door and held on with both hands. “Looks like I’m getting killed one way or another tonight.”

  The Rover ate up skeletal shrubs, the bare l
imbs and branches gouging at the undercarriage like a cat scraping at a door to be let out. The pickup stayed in their tracks, still closing.

  “Hold on,” Susan screamed, ripping the wheel back around to the left this time. The tires carved a donut on the next ragged lawn, and they were now facing Kasper’s blinding headlights and heading straight for him.

  “Ohhh, shit!” Michael screamed. He reached for the wheel, and Susan smacked his hand.

  “Don’t!”

  She swerved at the last moment; she had to because Kasper didn’t. They were Deathwalkers, and it was likely either of them would have walked away from a head-on collision. But with Michael, she couldn’t chance it.

  They headed back toward town. Ahead, the sky sported a hazy orange halo that enveloped the buildings like a cloud of toxic gas.

  “Is he still there?” Susan asked.

  Michael looked back. “Yeah, but I think you bought us a little more time.” He laughed nervously. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

  “Are you kidding? Being a cop in Hamilton, I was a regular Angie Dickinson in Police Woman.”

  She punched the accelerator, and the needle hovered near 110. They quickly approached slow-moving traffic, and vehicles parked along the sides of the streets. Susan deftly wove the bulky jeep between cars and trucks that crept sluggishly along.

  She noticed the smell of exhaust had become more powerful, and she wondered if she had damaged something in the engine when she drove over the shrubs. She pressed the button, and opened the driver and passenger windows a little. Behind them, Kasper closed in again.

  Susan reached inside her coat and found the cell phone John had given her after Kasper’s attack. Driving with one hand, she thumbed Devin’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “Devin. Please. I think I’m in trouble. Somewhere around Fifth Street.”

  “Think you’re in trouble?” Michael asked. “When exactly do you know?”

  “Pretty soon, I imagine.”

  She took the sidewalk to avoid the traffic at the stoplight, laying on the horn to clear the drunken pedestrians. Michael closed his eyes. Past the light, she jumped back onto the street.

  Kasper, however, plowed through a group of scraggly onlookers who had been sharing a joint. Susan glanced in the rearview mirror at the mess they were leaving in their wake. Kasper had switched on his wipers, and blood smeared his windshield as thick as paint.

  Michael turned to see the carnage. “Jesus! We need to stop this.”

  Just ahead, traffic was not only backed up, but all lanes were halted and blocked. Susan slowed, scanning for another opening on the sidewalk. “It looks like we’re about to.”

  She waited for a lull in the foot traffic, banging the horn again. Nobody seemed especially concerned, so she continued, anyway.

  “Susan—” Michael began.

  “Screw them! You want to die?”

  It was too late. They had paused a moment too long. Kasper crashed into their rear with so much force the back of the Rover left the pavement. Bodies scattered across the front of the jeep like broken dolls tossed from a child’s toy chest. The bodies fell beneath the tires, the crunch of their limbs and torsos giving under the weight of the vehicle. But the bodies did nothing to slow things down, and they smashed head-on into the brick façade of an old hotel.

  The airbags deployed on both sides as Susan and Michael were thrown forward.

  Susan unbuckled her seatbelt and then Michael’s. “You okay?”

  His glasses were gone, and he looked too wide-eyed, on the verge of shock. She shook him hard. “Don’t give out on me, now.”

  Shoving the airbag down, Susan threw her feet up and kicked out the cracked windshield with both heels. “Come on. Quickly!”

  They scrambled through and over the blood-slicked hood of the Rover, their shoes slipping in the mess. Kasper threw open the door of his truck and climbed out, still walking slower than normal. One leg of his jeans was brown with his blood. The riot gun swung easily at his side.

  Susan took Michael’s sweaty hand, and they began to run.

  ***

  They cut down an alleyway between a topless bar and a fish restaurant. The stink of rotting fish, emptied oyster shells and vile, rancid frying oil made Susan’s eyes water. She tugged Michael along by the hand, and he stumbled trying to keep up.

  “Damn, Susan. I can’t—“

  “You can! Now come on!”

  She no longer heard Kasper’s boots behind them. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a very bad one. He had either gotten wise and was levitating, or else he was above, peering down at them. She was positive he hadn’t given up on them—not this quickly.

  Worried about Michael, she slowed and then stopped completely. Michael dropped her hand and bent over, gasping for breath.

  “Damn,” he wheezed. His breath billowed out like smoke. “Why don’t you go on? I can hide.”

  “He’ll find you in a heartbeat, Michael.” She tapped his sweaty temple with her finger. “Remember. He can hear what’s going on in there.”

  Michael straightened up. “What about you?”

  “Deathwalkers can’t hear each other’s thoughts.”

  He sucked in another gulp of air. “Then, I’m only making things worse for you. Go.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” She took his hand in hers again. His fingers felt like shards of ice against hers. “If we can get enough distance between him and us, he can’t pick your brain.”

  She looked around, and then up, searching for a thin silhouette on top of one of the buildings. “We need to keep moving.” She pulled him on into the darkness.

  “I can’t see a thing, you know. My glasses—“

  “Don’t worry. I can.”

  An old department store loomed ahead where the alley widened enough to allow delivery trucks. They climbed onto the loading platform, and Susan tried to budge the roll-up door, but it was latched.

  She glanced at Michael. “Check this out,” she said. Then, kneeling, she gave the handle a mighty pull upward. The metal handle screeched and began to separate from the door, but it did move up—first only a few inches, then a foot, two feet, before the handle gave up the ghost and came off in her hand. She tossed it aside and lay down on her stomach.

  “Come on,” she whispered. She caught a flash of his apprehension. Rats. Hobos. She almost giggled at the prospects of hobos, but instead shimmied under the door, glanced around and then thrust her hand back out to Michael. “It’s cool. Come on.”

  “Great,” Michael muttered, but he slipped through. Once back on his feet, he tugged the door closed and then groped for her hand in the darkness.

  The warehouse section of the store smelled of mold and rat shit. Like most of the abandoned businesses around Charlestowne, the only lights were pale, red emergency lights. They had been perpetually on since the place had closed, and it was amazing that they were still lit. Here and there, EXIT signs glowed as weak as a flashlight on a drained battery. They hummed like flies buzzing the face of a corpse.

  The place was creepy, to say the least. Mannequins lurked in the corners of the sprawling room, all in various states of undress and in poses that were somewhat sexually explicit. Someone had left them that way as a joke, but in the blood-stained light, it was bizarre.

  They ran down a long corridor and into the showroom. Again, lit only by the red EXIT signs, most of the store was as black as a dungeon. Metal gates had been lowered across the front display windows, and no light bled inside or escaped out.

  Susan stopped and reached for her phone again. She patted her jacket pockets, then her jeans, and felt nothing. She went through the whole routine again, more frantically. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen out when they crashed. “Shit!”

  She was keenly aware of the soft rustle of vermin in the old store and could imagine them peering at the two of them with their red devil eyes, sizing them up for their next meal. She squeezed Michael’s hand a little tighter.


  The bottom floor of the store had been flooded, and the walls were laced with dark mildew almost to the tiled ceiling. They passed through the children’s department where miniature mannequins stood like the ghosts of dead children, wearing blackened faces and blackened clothes. The stink was stronger, and Susan’s throat itched. Michael sneezed softly against the crook of his elbow.

  He looked around, clearly anxious. “Maybe we lost him, do you think?”

  They stopped walking and turned slowly, searching the darkness. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Susan would have given almost anything to have her phone; the light and the clock would have been especially nice just now, the contact with Devin notwithstanding. “I wonder how long it is until dawn. Kasper will hide just like these rats when he sees the sunrise.”

  Michael didn’t respond, and she couldn’t resist the opportunity to probe and pry. She caught an image of Kasper across a dinner table in shitty lighting. Lying through his pointed teeth.

  They stood in the musty, dark abyss of the department store a moment. How she wished Devin had picked up the first time she had called. Her thoughts wanted to dwell on John, his pain. The fact that she was the one to end his long life. Suddenly, she wanted to throw up, but she squeezed Michael’s fingers tightly and breathed deeply.

  Poor, sweet John. What kind of monster could do those things to him?

  After a few moments of just standing and listening, Michael whispered, “Susan. I want you to be with me at the end. Okay?”

  His words intensified the queasiness in Susan’s stomach. “Please don’t say that, Michael.”

  “Really. If we don’t make it out of here.” He took her head in his hands and kissed her long and hard.

  Somewhere from the edges of his mind, Susan heard him, desperate, afraid—This is the last time I’ll ever do this. He pulled away, his eyes glistening. She rested her forehead against his a moment, caressed the stubble-scruff of his cheek. “Don’t give up, Michael. Kasper is stupid. We’ll—”