by Rook, Rowan
Sleep well? How could he ever sleep well again?
But he did. Exhaustion overcame him, and he rested comfortably with no thirst to disturb his slumber.
What a monster he was.
Chapter Seven: Dead Days
Mason and Molly sat alone in the living room, the dog resting her furry chin on her master’s knee with eyes closed peacefully. He envied her.
It was just now 7:30 in the morning. He’d always been a late riser, but he’d dragged himself from sleep earlier the last few days. His gaze wandered to the dishes he’d planted in the kitchen sink, wet as if they’d recently been washed.
By waking before the others, he could pretend he’d already eaten. They’d always wanted him out of bed earlier anyway, so neither of them complained. He would then say he wasn’t hungry during lunch and take dinner up to his room, where he’d feed it to Molly and Tilly. It’d become routine.
He unconsciously rubbed a hand over his belly and bile climbed up his throat. He still felt full. According to Sorrel, a meal once or twice per month was enough, so long as they didn’t suffer any injuries. He figured he’d be okay for a while…he didn’t even want to think about what would happen when the thirst came back.
An image of that man’s empty eyes, still wide with fear, bit him in the back of his head. He drew in and released a shaky breath, burying his brow in his fingers. He swore he could still taste the blood in his mouth. Two days had passed since then, but none of it – not the pictures or the sounds or the smells – had faded.
It’d sapped the innocence right out of everything. His body felt able and energetic, but his mind was heavy, racing with horror in the day’s quiet moments. He could no longer even read a book or watch a movie without a grim weight dragging down his stomach and pushing against his ribs, whispering in his ear the reminder that he’d killed someone. That someone else could no longer read a book or watch a movie because he could.
He closed his eyes. Color was gone. He lived in a world of gray.
The weekly paper had sat waiting for him on the porch this morning, and he’d found the man in the obituary section. Nowadays, the dead got nothing but a small thumbnail and blurb. His name was Joseph Krell – no one that he recognized. ‘Assumed plague’ was listed as the cause of death, just as Sorrel said. No one ever had to know how Joseph Krell died.
Was this…really okay? Was it really okay to sleep in his same bedroom, go to the same school, and share the same home with his brother and girlfriend? What would they think if they knew they lived now with a murderer?
“You’re up early again, I see.”
His head jolted up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Y-yeah, I…want to make it a habit.”
Martin eyed him for a while, then turned away and searched the closet for his coat. He was already in his work clothes, as neat and unwrinkled as always. Mason often wondered why he bothered getting so done up at all for a simple clerical job at Hobby’s Hardware.
“Good. You’re taking some initiative. I like it.” Martin pulled on his non-slip boots. “Beats waiting to die in front of that computer of yours.”
Mason didn’t answer.
Martin’s eyes stopped on the wet dishes when he went to the kitchen for his keys. “Y’know, if you’ve started making breakfast, you could save some for us.”
Mason stifled a groan, irritation wining over his anxiety. “You never leave any for me when you’re the first one up.”
“By the time you usually get up, it would be as cold as a corpse.” Martin grumbled.
Mason stiffened. Corpse? Was there something pointed in his brother’s voice, or was he just imagining things again? Yeah. He had to just be imagining things.
“Ah well, not hungry anyway.” Martin decided. “You might want to make something for Merril, though. She was pretty sick last night.”
Mason frowned. “She got worse again?”
“Getting up early is well and good.” Martin lectured distractedly. He was so well practiced at it that he could scold even while skimming messages on his cell. “But not if you go to bed so early you miss a good half of the day.”
Mason answered with an indifferent shrug. Still…he had surrendered to sleep around six and hadn’t seen much of Merril the night before. She really must’ve been ill for Martin to bring it up.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go see how she is.” Martin suggested, a grimace in his voice. “Or are you so lazy you won’t check up on your own sick girlfriend?”
Mason blinked, slightly startled. He hadn’t realized Martin knew they were anything more than best friends. Maybe he’d been naïve to think they could keep it hidden. They’d all shared the same house for a couple of years now, after all. His brother had simply never said anything about it.
Martin laughed, apparently reading Mason’s surprise. “You really aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.” He shoved his phone into his pocket with a sly zip. “But what a good, solid girl like her sees in you, I’ll never know.”
“That’s not –” Mason sputtered, flustered.
“Come on, this house is too small for secrets.” Martin shot him a smirk.
For a few tense seconds, Mason wondered if he knew. Blood. Death. Murder. How could his brother have found out? He pretended to eat. He forced himself to breathe. He hid his pale skin under long-sleeved shirts. He was as quiet and reclusive as ever. So how could –
Martin turned away with another laugh. “You need a more original place to hide those magazines and bottles of booze than under your bed. Be glad you have an understanding big brother, huh?”
He reddened, but exhaled an instinctive breath of relief. So much relief, in fact, that it overpowered the angry twitch that came with the thought of his brother rooting around his room.
“But really, Mason, hentai?” Martin teased with another wry smile.
“Shut up.” Mason grumbled, trying not to flush. “I’m surprised you even know what that word means.”
His brother just laughed, trudging for the door with his hands tucked into his jeans.
“Don’t you need to bring a lunch or something?” Mason realized, happy to change the subject.
Martin paused. “Nah. The boss will probably have some cold pizza lying around like always. But don’t you go worrying about me when you should be worrying about Merril and your own lazy ass.” He slipped through the door without waiting for an answer and locked it behind him.
Mason blinked at the wall, slightly perturbed, before dragging himself off the couch and up the stairs. “Merril?” He knocked at her door. “You want something to eat?”
A muted voice piped up behind the thin walls. “I…think I want to keep sleeping. Just a little longer, okay?”
He bit his lip. “Do you want me to bring anything up, at least?”
“I’d like a glass of water.”
He returned downstairs and fetched a drink. She probably wouldn’t eat it, but he grabbed a plate of cheese and crackers, too – his former favorite sick meal.
Merril was still lying in bed when he came back to her room and stepped inside. Her face was nearly as pale as his, her lids resting drowsily over her eyes. She looked small and thin beneath her big red quilt. He set the food and drink on her bedside table and ran his fingers over one of her cold hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t feel well.” Her tone was casual, but her voice was weak. “It came on fast this time.”
He frowned. “How so?”
“I just…feel really tired.” She sighed. “I don’t feel nauseated or have a sore throat or anything, but I have a bit of a headache. Maybe it’ll go away if I sleep a while longer.”
He found her green gaze. She never liked to complain, but a terrible sadness rested there, just beneath the surface. Her chest rose and fell heavily, too heavily. The same pulse he’d thirsted for suddenly seemed frighteningly frail. “Sleep well, okay?”
He left the room without saying anything more.
****
Mason sat at his place on the couch, the house silent, save for the relentless ticking of the clock. “She didn’t look well at all.” He muttered into his cell. “I think we should take her back to the clinic.”
“I called last night, but they’re all booked up over the weekend. I made an appointment for Monday.” Martin answered through the speaker.
Monday. That was still two days away. Merril would be okay until then, wouldn’t she?
Mason chewed his lip. Her frequent illness wasn’t normally a cause for alarm – it was always something simple like a cold – but this time there was an unease he couldn’t shake. He would’ve felt better if she could’ve gone that same day.
Wait…!
He recalled Clifford Seager’s pale face. His and Merril’s old physician. It wasn’t like he could summon a dead doctor for a house call, but could Cliff have some antibiotics left over from his human days?
“Mason, you there? I’ve got to go, so –”
“Yeah.” He answered almost too quickly. “Yeah, umm, good luck with work.”
“Hey, I know I told you to worry, but I didn’t mean quite so literally. Just stay with her and make sure she has everything she needs. That’s about all we can do, and besides...” His voice trailed with a chuckle. “Girls love a man who can play nurse. Keep at it for a while and I’m sure you’ll get something out of it.”
The line melted to static when Martin didn’t seem to get the reaction he’d wanted. “Mason?”
“Hmm?” Mason startled.
“Nothing.” Martin sighed. “Just keep an eye on Merril and sink into the couch, like always. I’ll be home before long.”
“Yeah.” Mason repeated dryly and hung up the phone.
According to Sorrel, he was welcome at the prison anytime. He cringed at the thought of going back, but…
At least it was better than staring at the wall.
He stood and shouted at the door a story above him. “Hey, Merril, I’m going for a walk. Give me a call if something comes up.”
****
Sure enough, the prison’s immense gate swung open with nothing more than a simple push. It creaked on its hinges, but put up little fight. Sorrel was as right as always. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at his unexpected strength before the guilt soured his lips. He meandered into cell block #2, head low, and legs hesitant.
He focused on finding familiar faces. Sorrel was absent. What might have been disappointment nipped his chest, but he shrugged it off and looked at the people he did recognize. Elsie Adams was there with a girl named Shanna May. Two former classmates – one who’d died just recently and one who’d gone missing over three years ago. They’d always gossiped together atop the stairs as he left school, and now they chatted casually again, leaning against the second floor railing. The two girls burst into a fit of giggles as Shanna whispered something in Elsie’s ear. He shivered, in spite of himself.
He’d hoped to avoid attracting much attention, and certainly that of the makeshift leader with a gun, but Dale’s loud, gruff voice reached him almost immediately. It echoed off the walls in well-guarded anger.
“No one made you the leader!” A shrill, feminine voice piped up in protest. “You have no authority over me or anyone here.”
“I’m the one who keeps this place safe – I’ve earned the title, and I won’t let your carelessness put the rest of us in danger!”
Mason stopped to watch the argument between the burly man and a much lither woman. Her curly red hair marked her even from behind – it was the girl he’d seen standing with the scout boys when he’d first visited the prison.
She laughed. “Danger? I’m the one thinking about the future here! You’d be content to let us all lie down and wait to die, just like the humans. How safe is that? My people and I claimed two risers in just the last month! We need to keep growing or the plague will get to our potential recruits before we do. There’s a big difference between .2% and 1%, Dale. Once they’re gone, they’re gone!”
“Let Cliff and Mercy worry about all that. It’s not our place to murder for a measly .8%.”
“Hah! And what are they going to do? We’re corpses, Dale! It doesn’t matter how much time they waste looking through a microscope – we’re never going to have children. What’s the alternative? Cloning?” She sneered with a tongue oozing defiance. Her voice was a taunt in itself, baiting him to bite. “A blood substitute? Sure, I can believe that. But you know as well as I do that these ‘alternate reproductive methods’ are a crock of shit. Nothing but wishful thinking, and that’s something we can’t afford when we’ll soon be all that’s left. There won’t be any going back, Dale, not once the humans are –”
“Alex!” Sweat glistened on Dale’s clenched fists. “I understand your concerns, but the bottom line is that you and your ‘people’ are taking this way too far. We’re hunters, not monsters.”
“Oh? There’s a difference now? A carnivore is a carnivore. It may not be for hunger, but we’re doing what we have to do to ensure our species survives. We will succeed the human race! The human race that’s already doomed to die whether we hurry it along or not. We must –”
Dale pulled the gun from his coat. “Alex, stand down or I will shoot.”
Her green eyes blazed with black fire. “Some leader you are. What happened to democracy, huh?” She scoffed, nostrils flaring.
Dale pushed his lips into a solemn line, fingers curled around the handle of his gun. “I don’t want to see another murder until you need to feed. And with how many you’ve taken recently, I’d say that’s not for another three weeks. Are we clear?”
Alex glared a moment longer, chin held high, and walked away, not uttering another word. Dale sighed, returning his gun to his coat while his free hand wiped his clammy brow. Mason watched the woman leave, eyes following her bobbing red hair.
What had they been fighting about? Murder? A 1% chance? Reproduction? Successors? The hair rose on the back of his neck. He understood why they’d argued better than he let himself admit. He didn’t want anything to do with these people’s grisly affairs.
He was just about to slink away, taking advantage of the dying commotion, when Dale shot him a smile. “Well, hey there, runner. Decided to join in after all?”
Mason flinched. “I’m just here to talk to Cliff. If that’s okay, I mean.”
Dale heaved another, exaggerated sigh. “Figures. Just don’t make a nuisance of yourself, you hear? He and Mercy are in the old infirmary.” He gestured to the left with a smirk. “Make yourself at home, now!”
****
Mason found the doctors bent over a long metal table. Cliff eyed a test tube while Mercy glared daggers into collections of paper. He stopped at the doorway. It almost felt wrong to disturb them. “Excuse me?”
Cliff looked up with a friendly smile. “Oh, Mason? What brings you here? You didn’t seem terribly fond of the place, what with the running off and all.”
He looked down. “It’s…I was wondering if you still had any medicine left from when, well, when you used to be a doctor.”
Cliff heaved a quiet laugh. “I still am a doctor, lad. I just work in different ways, now.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“No need to look so down. You can’t let little things get to you if you want to survive a life like this.” He breathed a final chuckle before his lips drooped into a frown. “So what is it? Merril sick again?”
Mason raised his head. “You remember?”
“Of course.” Cliff nodded. “She was one of my regulars.”
“We were going to take her to see the new doctor, but the clinic’s booked up over the weekend, and…I’m not sure she can wait.”
“What is she down with?”
Mason chewed the inside of his jaw. “I don’t know. She says she has a headache and feels really tired. She looked awful this morning – really pale and shaky.”
The doctor was quiet for a few beats, eyes flickering with thought like he was sk
imming a book that wasn’t there. “I can’t give a diagnosis without seeing her, but how about I lend you a catch-all antibiotic? I did take a handful of stuff with me when I left the clinic, and if she’s got any type of bacterial infection, it should knock it out at least until you can get a real examination.”
Mason smiled. “That would be great.”
Cliff just nodded, already rummaging through a dusty shelf. “You look like you could use some allergy meds, yourself. A pity they don’t work on us anymore. You should stay out of the sun as much as you can for a while.”
“Eh?” Mason blinked, bewildered until he remembered the welts on his hands. They hadn’t necessarily gotten worse, but they hadn’t disappeared, either. In fact, they were slowly sprouting on his lower neck. They’d been around for so long that he’d more or less stopped noticing them.
“Stay out of the sun for a few days and they’ll go away.”
He instinctively pulled down his sleeves as far as they would go. “The…sun?”
The doctor heaved a hearty laugh that made his belly bounce. It looked out of place on a figure as thin and lanky as his. “It’s not like we’ll burn up or melt to ashes, but we are weak to the sun – it’s something like an allergic reaction.”
Mason’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Cliff shoved aside old boxes and bags while he spoke. “It can actually get quite severe, but you should be fine as long as you don’t spend hours under direct sunlight. It will sap your energy, though, so don’t overdo it.”
…This was just too much. Mason groaned, staring at the cracks in the floor and letting himself think about something else. “Umm, I heard Dale and some girl, I think her name was Alex, arguing –”
“Oh, was Dale trying to knock some sense into her again?” Cliff didn’t wait for him to finish. “Alex has some idea in her head that we need to drain as many people as possible to give them the 1% chance of rising. She says we need to make the vampire population as big as possible before humans all die out, but really, she just enjoys the power. Sick in the head, that one is.”
