by Rook, Rowan
Mason shuddered, his toes curling.
“She’s managed to sweep quite a few of us under her wing, though. It’s best just to stay away from her and her ‘people’.”
Were there really people like that in the prison? People who’d kill without needing to? Sorrel hadn’t told him anything about that before. Something churned his stomach – he wasn’t sure if it was fear or disgust, but either way, he’d definitely made the right decision to run.
“They were also talking about, umm, ‘reproduction’. Dale said that you and Mercy were –”
“Ah, well…” Cliff stopped. “We’re tackling one barrier at a time. We clearly have the potential to outlive humans, but as we originate from them as well as feed off them, the extinction of our origin species poses quite a problem for us, as well. Without food, we’ll all die, as they will. And without humans to rise, we’ll never grow as a people. Right now, however, we’re putting all our efforts into the synthetic blood program – we have a four year time limit at max on that one.”
Mason tapped his heel on the floor. “So…you mean we won’t have to hunt anymore?”
“Someday.” Cliff shot him a smile. “Or at least, that’s the idea. We’re working to uncover what exactly it is that keeps us alive, and why it needs human blood as fuel. The next step will be procuring alternate resources for it.”
Mason couldn’t help but return the smile slightly, a delicate surge of hope easing his tight chest. Not only would that secure their survival beyond the four year barrier, it would also mean that one day they would no longer have to kill. He could live the normal future he’d never thought he'd have.
“That’s still a ways off, though, so you’ll have to make do for now. Do what you must to make sure you’re still around when the time comes. Those will be glorious days, indeed.” The doctor grinned, eyes lighting up even while they stared at something far away. “As far as reproduction goes… Well, not only do we not age, we’re also completely infertile. As ridiculous as it sounds, cloning is a possibility in the far future, or at least some form of ‘test tube children’, if you will. It’s also possible that we will discover a method to reactivate just our reproductive organs, similar to how we can force activate our lungs. Then, of course, there’s the matter of how, and how much, the offspring would age.” He clicked his tongue. “Let’s just say that it’s not something me and Mercy can figure out on our own, but we can’t be the only scientists out there. The plague spread worldwide, so it’s only logical to assume there are others like us all across the globe. We simply haven’t connected with them, yet. I imagine that’ll get easier once the human population thins out.”
Silence.
He smiled. “But, we’ll worry about making more of us once we’ve saved those already here. After all, if we find an alternate food source, we’ll have our own eternity to figure it out. Time would be no demon to a people that can’t die of old age.”
Mason scratched the back of his neck. “I-I see.” He didn’t see, not at all. It all sounded so…out there. But he supposed none of it really mattered to him. If he was going to have children one day, he’d always imagined it’d be with Merril, but neither of them had ever been big on the idea of snot-nosed little spawns.
He let his eyes wander about the room while his head wandered elsewhere. Loose folders covered the tables and dotted the floor, lying amongst empty bottles and test tubes filled with liquids he couldn’t identify. “What about the opposite? I mean, we survived, so could humans study us to find ways to survive, themselves?”
Cliff rubbed his chin. “Don’t forget, we didn’t actually ‘survive’. If anything, the virus hit us harder than anyone else.” He licked his lips. “It’s possible, I suppose. Possible, but unlikely. A walking corpse is something entirely different from a human being with a beating heart.”
“What is this really, anyway?” Mason asked. “What kind of virus turns people into monsters straight from fiction?”
“Well, there are all kinds of theories. I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of them.” Cliff answered without looking back. “Personally, I’m inclined to believe it was engineered specifically to create people like us – I have a hard time accepting that it’s something nature would come up with. That we so closely resemble fictional vampires leaves a distinctly human handprint, doesn’t it? It’s a very specific mutation. We have more potent senses, heightened strength, and faster reaction speeds. Perhaps the strain was designed to produce a breed of biological weapons – super soldiers.”
Super…soldiers?
“I’m sure it was intended to work much more than 1% of the time, but I’m also sure that it was never intended to get this far out of hand. Perhaps a subject escaped and spread it, perhaps one of the creators came down with the virus without realizing it, or perhaps there was a simple leak. Either way, it spread like absolute wildfire once it got it out. By the time anyone realized what was going on, it was too late to contain a virus engineered to be unstoppable.” The doctor laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it? I guess it’s true – it was our greed that ultimately led to our downfall. Our governments are probably still trying to cover it up. Why do you think none of the papers talk about it much? The real stuff. Not just the deaths.” He blinked, and then slowly resumed his search through the shelf. “Of course…this is all complete speculation on my part.”
A strange, tense hush came between them. Even Mercy paused, standing there silently for a few beats before continuing through her notes. Something tugged at the back of Mason’s skull.
Was that…really just speculation? Was Cliff really just a doctor? After all, he seemed to be taking to the researcher role quite well.
“Why the blood, then?” Mason got the sense that he wasn’t supposed to ask any more questions, but couldn’t stop himself. “Why not design for some other type of food?”
“How should I know?” The doctor just stood there a while, shaking his head. “Perhaps it was to give us a reason to fight? Why would we refuse when we already have to kill? At least then we’d have enemies offered to us instead of innocent civilians. Combat isn’t murder, right?” Another bitter chuckle. “Besides, a literal bloodlust never hurt on the battlefield.”
Cliff grabbed a pink bottle and held it out for Mason before he could argue. “Here. Hurry on home and give this to Merril.”
It was clear that the doctor was ready for his visitor to leave. Mason tucked the bottle into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Make sure to come on back and tell me how she’s doing, all right?”
Mason nodded, but already knew he wouldn’t.
****
Mason hurried down the dirt road winding away from the prison, as eager to get out of there as ever. The day’s conversations clung to the back of his head and blotted out the footsteps behind him. He didn’t realize he was being followed until cold fingers wrapped around his collar.
“Aww, what’s the hurry?”
He startled, wiping around. A red-framed, freckled face. It was that girl, Alex. His anxiety sunk into the dread building in the pit of his stomach.
She giggled. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
He looked her over. She seemed just a few years older than he was – in her early twenties, perhaps. Her dark brown eyes narrowed, but his fell on the pale, round breasts peeking from a low tank.
She leaned closer and flicked his cheek with a sharp fingernail. “It’s not polite to stare, you know. How about you at least answer my question first?”
He winced, stepping back. The mild ache on his cheek left him strangely uneasy. It was too much like something Merril would do. “Mason.” He finally answered, somehow feeling that ignoring her would make it worse.
She smiled. “Alexandra Abbot, but let’s just go with Alex. I’m about to do some scouting for our hunting trip tonight. How about you come with me, Mason?”
“Hunting?” He tensed. “But didn’t Dale just say you weren’t allowed to for the next three weeks?”
He
r lithe limbs stiffened. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed his presence during the argument. “Allowed? As if that blow hard actually had authority. He talks big and barks loud, but he’s just a bully trying to take advantage of our situation. Don’t fall for it.”
Mason’s grinding teeth chewed silent words in his mouth. “But…”
She frowned, leaning so near her nose almost touched his. “Besides, no one’s going to tell him, are they?”
For the first time, he realized just how rancid a vampire’s breath was. Her low groan crawled up his nostrils, daring him.
Was she going to murder someone? Should he tell Dale? Leader or not, maybe he could stop her! But…
He shook his head. “No.”
Spineless coward.
Alex rewarded him with a grin. “Good. It’d be a pity if I had to silence you. We vamps should stick together, you know?” She turned away, continuing her march down the dirt road. “I’ll be here until dusk – come find me, if you change your mind.” She waved without looking back.
****
Mason found Merril lying on the couch, eyes closed with the cat crowding her lap. She shivered, even beneath her favorite plush blue blanket. He found the sweat on her brow without needing to touch it, her clammy skin glistening with the sickly yellow hue of the living room lamps. A dinner plate sat on the coffee table, untouched.
Mason swallowed and looked up to see his brother reading the local paper. Martin reclined with his feet on the counter, no food beside him. Maybe dinner had already come and gone – he’d lost track of time while he was out there.
“She got worse.” Martin grumbled without looking up. “Found her leaning against the bathroom sink when I got home, half asleep with fever. She was alone, so she’d been there a while.” Pointed eyes looked at him over the newspaper’s rim. “Fetched her some ibuprofen and helped her to the couch, but she’s asleep again. Just leave her alone for a while.”
Mason frowned, brushing past both his brother and the guilt he was trying to press on him to fetch a spoon from the kitchen. He felt Martin’s eyes glowering into the back of his head without turning around. They were angry, no doubt, but…they seemed disappointed, too. He paused, staring blankly down at the drawer, before taking what he needed and pushing it shut. Merril’s worsening wasn’t his fault! She could’ve brought the phone with her into the bathroom. She could’ve called him. He hadn’t stayed with her as his brother had told him to, and perhaps he should’ve, but he’d left for her sake, too. He’d wanted to do something to help her instead of simply waiting for her to get worse.
But had it really been for her sake?
A small splotch of doubt clung to the back of his head. As much as he’d feared going back to the old jail, his own house sometimes felt like its own sort of prison. Maybe he’d wanted some excitement. A little interest. A little suspense. Now that he’d tasted a different world, perhaps the same white walls weren’t enough anymore. Maybe he wasn’t content always staying locked away at home with nothing but his computer and his sick girlfriend.
And…
An image of Sorrel flickered in front of him, smiling mischievously at him with her pale lips and bright blue eyes. She looked alive. More like the girl he’d seen grinning in the old newspaper than the murderer he’d met in the alley. More alive than the heavy haze that seemed to fill his house.
He stopped. His thoughts bubbled up more guilt than his brother’s words, surprising him as much as sickening him. He quickly swallowed them down into his churning stomach, and hurried over to Merril.
She was still asleep, wet beads dampening her closed lids. He took the medicine bottle from his pocket, set it on the coffee table, and balanced the spoon on the lid. He ran gentle fingers across her cheek. Another bite of guilt came at the thought of waking her up, but she didn’t look good. The sooner she got the antibiotics down, the better.
She stirred and blearily opened her eyes. “…Mason?”
He gestured to the bottle beside her. “Try this. It’s generic, but it might help. Depends on what you have, I guess.”
“Where…?” She asked, blinking in tired confusion. “Where did that come from?”
He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Mason, where did you get that?” Martin’s voice was far harsher. Mason hadn’t realized his brother was even listening.
He looked to the kitchen with a frown. “Does it matter? It’s just standard penicillin?”
“Where did you get it?” Martin’s lips formed every word, precise, loud and slow.
Mason sighed. Why was his brother so high-strung? “I…ran into someone from school while I was out for my walk. I asked them if they had any spare antibiotics, and as luck would have it, they did. That’s all.”
“And they just gave it to you?” Martin arched an incredulous brow. “A shut in who would be nearly as much a stranger to them as the average passerby?”
Mason ground his teeth. “Excuse me?”
Martin shrugged. “Well it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not exactly friends with any of your classmates. I find it hard to believe they’d be willing to simply give you their spare drugs.”
Heat rushed to Mason’s cheeks and made him hope it wasn’t visible on his pale skin. “It’s my choice! Why would I need friends, especially when they could drop dead next morning?” He swallowed and released a breath. “They didn’t just give it to me. I bought it off them.”
Martin opened his mouth – wide, as if he were going to yell – but Merril spoke up first. “Thanks, Mason.” A grin lit her thin lips. “I’ll pay you back for it.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s –”
“Merril, don’t take it.” Martin ordered.
“…Why?” She blinked up at him with reddened eyes.
“It’s not like it’s poisoned or anything!” This time Mason beat his brother. “I wouldn’t give it to her if I wasn’t sure it was safe. I’ll take a sip myself, if you want me to!”
Well…that probably wouldn’t work, he realized after speaking. It’d come right back up, which wouldn’t really do much to prove its safety. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
Merril rose to a sitting position, moving slowly. “No, I trust Mason.” She smiled, and the mixture of ice and heat covering his ribs melted away. “If he says it’s fine, then I’m sure it is.” She pulled off the lid, poured some onto the spoon, and swallowed it down. “Let’s see if it works, shall we?”
Mason returned the smile and took the rest of the antibiotics to the kitchen. An arm clasped his shoulder from behind, nearly making him drop it.
Martin’s brown eyes bore into his own when he whirled. “What’s gotten into you these last couple weeks? You’ve been disappearing, coming home late, getting up early, skipping meals, locking yourself in your room…do I even need to go on?”
The heat returned to Mason’s cold veins. His brother’s words could have been those of concern, but there was a biting, accusatory ice there that shifted their meaning. “It’s nothing.” He scowled. “I’ve, umm…” What was a good excuse that could cover everything? Nothing came to mind. “Err…I just…haven’t been feeling well.”
“And that makes you come home late from school and get up early?”
He didn’t know if it was possible anymore, but he swore his face reddened. His fingers dug into his palms. “It’s none of your damn business. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life!”
“You live that life in my house. You live it under my rules.” Martin held a finger to his brother’s face. “I want to know where you’re going, who you’re seeing, and when. I’m not a fool.”
“It’s not your house, it’s Mom’s!” The words tore from Mason’s lungs before he had a chance to think.
A hand smacked against his nose, connecting with the snap of flesh on flesh. He stumbled backwards, grasping at the sink to keep his footing. His fingers flew over his nose so his brother wouldn’t see that it wasn’t bleeding.
He’d…hit
him. Martin had hit him. It…wasn’t the first time, but…
Mason glared over his aching nose, the shock in his eyes melting away to an angry, bitter defiance. If his brother thought something as simple as that would gain obedience, he was wrong. Oh, he was wrong! Also contrary to popular belief, he did have a spine. “You aren’t Mom. You aren’t my father. Don’t try to be.”
Martin’s nostrils flared, but he ignored his brother’s words. “You’ll let me know where you’re going each day, and when you’ll be back. Are we clear?”
“Yes. I understand what you want.” Mason forced his gaze not to falter. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to comply.”
“You will, unless you want to be grounded until after Christmas.”
“I’m not an animal. You can’t keep me caged.”
Martin’s fingers curled into a fist, still shaking. Heh; what his brother really craved was to punch him in the gut. He could if he wanted to. Mason didn’t care.
“I’m not her, but Mom left me in charge of you. If you respected her, then you respect me.” Martin narrowed his eyes, sweat wetting his brow.
“Is something going on?” Merril spoke for the first time, looking towards the kitchen. Her eyes met Mason’s with a note of sympathy – chances were she already knew the answer to her own question.
He looked away from her and back to Martin, lowering his voice. “She didn’t leave you in charge. She never had the chance to leave anyone in charge! You’re older, so what? I’m eighteen now. That’s not enough!”
“You know as well as I do that Mom counted on me when she couldn’t be there.” Martin’s voice slipped through barred teeth. “I don’t want to disappoint her by letting you waste what time you have left.”
“How can you say that when you’re the one who killed her?” Mason screamed, something inside him ripping loose before he could cage it.
A heavy fist connected with his stomach and sent him tumbling into the cupboards. This time he couldn’t save himself – the kitchen floor rose to meet him.
