by Rook, Rowan
“Mason!” Merril was up in an instant, leaning against the couch and staring into the kitchen with wide eyes.
Well, there was that punch in the gut. He gritted his teeth and stared at the tile, not saying anything.
“When you get a job and live on your own, you’ll never have to see me again. Until then, it's my house, my rules. I’m doing what I must to protect you and Merril. That’s all. Like it or not, you are my responsibility.”
Mason opened his mouth, about to blurt another defiant bark, but Merril spoke first. “Guys stop – look!”
Her eyes were on the TV now, equally as wide. Something had definitely caught her interest. He slowly scraped himself off the floor and pointedly turned his back to Martin. His stomach throbbed, but he refused to let it show. It would heal in a few moments, anyway. “What?”
“Just look.” Merril chewed her fingernails – something she only did when anxious.
He followed her gaze and heaved a gasp when he saw the flickering pictures.
People lay dead in the streets. Not the occasional limp body the plague left behind, but corpses spread along the sidewalks like discarded litter. They stared through the TV with stretched, blank eyes and bodies ruined by gashes. Some were painted red. Some were torn but dry and pale. Some were peppered with bullet holes. Some had knives left in them. Some were decapitated, heads and bodies lying separate.
Merril’s hand moved to cover her lips. Mason’s clasped his jaw to keep bile from escaping his rancid gut. Even Martin stood stiffly behind him.
“What you’re seeing is the result of a mass riot in the streets of Rocher. This ghastly scene was created when a group of residents razed an abandoned homeless shelter on the outskirts of town.” The news anchor’s voice was calm, impartial. “They burned the building down, calling the group of people gathered inside ‘vampires’, and assaulted those who escaped with guns and knives. The victims fought back, and the two sides nearly wiped each other out in what officials are calling the most violent and senseless local tragedy in years.”
…Vampires? Mason’s limbs went numb.
The screen moved to a different image –a dead man with two jagged red dots in his neck. He swallowed hard, recognizing them immediately.
“The panic in Rocher had been building slowly over the last couple weeks, after several victims were found with marks like these. Certain sects claimed the town had been cursed by ‘vampires’, and unfortunately, some of them took their paranoia to terrifying extremes.”
More shots of the carnage. Death. A death no one would rise from. Destruction. Massacre. Slaughter. Butchery.
He looked at the floor, suddenly unable to watch. His stomach churned, bitter acid crawling up the back of his throat. It heaved and constricted, leaving him afraid it might spill out. He didn’t look up until the pictures faded.
Was that homeless shelter…like the prison?
“The reason the original victims were gathered inside the shelter is not yet clear. The mayor has also declined to comment until the initial investigation is finished. Currently, we –”
The TV went black. Mason stared at the blank screen, before slowly turning to see Martin holding the remote. He realized for the first time how stiff his body was, every muscle standing on edge.
“Disgusting. They have no place showing that on TV.” His brother looked equally tense, practically throwing the remote to the couch.
“T-that’s…” Merril sputtered, her voice muted by the hand still covering her mouth.
Corpses that didn’t bleed. Victims found with bite marks. Bodies left decapitated. The town had caught on to the vampires’ presence, and then they’d…
A shiver crawled up his spine with cold fingers. Rocher was just the next town over. The mangled bodies. The bloodied tar. That wasn’t going to happen here, was it? Nothing like that was going to happen in Wheldon Hill! It wasn’t…was it?
“The pandemic is driving everyone mad. Humans weren’t made to function with a deadline.” Martin’s voice rose slowly. “See? This is what the world is coming too. It’s rotting away!” A pause, and a rough, stiff breath. “This is why I worry about you.”
Mason looked down. “I think I’m going to bed early.”
He hurried up the stairs much more quickly than his subdued, quiet voice suggested.
Chapter Eight: A Walk in the Park
Mason ambled down the street with hands wrapped tightly around Molly's leash. She stopped to sniff and squat at every bush, pulling impatiently against her collar. Walking her was traditionally his job – she was his dog, after all – but lately, he’d neglected the duty.
Another week had passed since his visit to the prison. The antibiotics had indeed done Merril good. She’d gone to school with him yesterday, and they'd stopped at the store to pick up dinner together on the way home. Today, there was talk about heading out for an evening movie, just the two of them.
He smiled. For the past couple of days everything had gone, well, normal. As if he hadn’t committed murder and corpses hadn’t littered the sidewalks in the next town over.
He snorted, pulling his MP3 player from his pocket and switching to the next song. Tracks from his favorite films and games blared through his earbuds and drowned out the afternoon ambiance. He never had been much into radio music, but he did have his favorite soundtrack composers. The one he was listening to had died three years ago, but for once, he decided not to think about that and just enjoy the music. Nostalgia was a strange thing, painful and pleasant at the same time.
The only blemish on the closest thing he’d felt to peace in days was the slight burn running up his arms. He grimaced, scratching at his wrists. The rash was spreading. He pulled his sleeves down as far as he could and looked up at the sun.
Perhaps he should’ve heeded Cliff’s advice more carefully. He’d left the house under an overcast sky, but the afternoon sun had wrestled its way through the clouds for a comeback victory. It sat high and mighty in its blue throne, indifferent to everything going on below.
He needed to head back before the rash worsened. It was a shame, really. It was a cold, December glow, but all the same, the light was pleasant on his face. He’d spent so many hours locked away in his room…perhaps he hadn’t enjoyed the blue sky enough when he’d had the chance. It returned just a little bit of color to the world of gray.
For the first time in a while, he was almost happy. Not joyous or excited, but content. It was unfortunate that he had to return to his dreary home so soon.
A sharp bark shattered his reverie, leaving him just enough time to tighten his grip on Molly’s leash before she dashed away. She howled and pulled against it, teeth barred with undeterred aggression. He followed her gaze and craned his neck for a better look. “Mol?”
She just snarled, fighting him with all her strength. In the past, she’d almost been able to take him for a walk, but the vampire’s legs stayed firm on the cement. He scanned the houses and yards with his newly sensitive eyes.
He was in his own neighborhood, five or so blocks from his house. Nothing unusual struck him, but Molly wouldn’t stop yapping. Something had certainly upset her. He swallowed hard as what he’d found in the alleyway tickled his memory with cold fingers.
No. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. He was one of them now, after all. One of the hunters, not the hunted. He’d carefully made sure his secret stayed a secret, and as far as he knew, the other vampires at the prison were okay with him. What could he possibly have to fear?
But even as he turned to leave, the dog kept barking. He stopped, closing his eyes and focusing on his ears. Shrill howls blocked out everything else. “Shut it!” He scolded, but it did no good. She was oblivious to everything except whatever had shaken her up. He grimaced and tried to sift through her noise.
Something registered in his head – a wet sucking sound. The noise pierced his stomach and left a tang on his tongue, eyes shooting to the house on the left.
…The noise cam
e from behind there.
His legs started moving, carrying him around the side of the little white-walled house. He saw it before his mind could catch up. A part of him had already known what he'd find, but the sight itself sunk needles in his stomach.
A figure lay collapsed against the chain-link fence surrounding the lawn. Streaks of blood leaked from twin marks on its neck, but its chest still rose and fell. Another silhouette, much taller, catapulted over the opposite side of the fence and around the bend before his eyes registered its features. Then there was silence.
Mason's mouth hung open on tight hinges. Molly’s incessant barking disappeared from his head even while she bayed.
For a moment, he considered turning around and walking away. If another vampire had made a kill, it was no business of his to get involved. He had no right to. But a pained rasp reached his ears.
His eyes fell on the victim. It was still alive. The hunter must’ve heard him coming, thought he was human, and fled. It seemed he had a knack for running into vamps at the worst possible time. He frowned and inched a few steps closer.
Disgust curled his toes. It was just a boy, his rounded features and superhero tee marking him as middle-school aged. The kid leaned against the fence, eyes wild and wet with tears. He struggled for breath, his small body heaving.
For a while, Mason just stared, not doing anything. The boy twitched, letting out a scream and grasping at the dirt with sweaty fingers.
Something shifted in his stomach. He knew the fate of those left alive all too well. He tied Molly to the rungs of the fence and clambered over it, kneeling near the victim.
The boy didn’t see him at first, but when he did, he shrieked, screaming and pleading until coughs racked his dying body and sent bile from his throat. Mason stared at the grass.
This was horribly cruel. Maybe it was wrong to look at killing differently because the victim was young, or because they weren’t backstreet scum, but a spark of anger quivered in his gut.
If the other vampire had fled because of him, then was it his job to take care of it? He looked at the bite marks, and an anticipatory tang he hated himself for welled in his mouth.
The boy shuddered away as he approached, begging Mason to leave him alone and let him live until his body surrendered to convulsions. Let him live… No mercy in the world could do that.
“I’m sorry.” Mason answered, his voice soft and low. Then he sunk his teeth into the child’s neck.
It took only a moment. There was little blood left, and after a final screech, the boy went limp and sunk into the grass.
Mason stood, staring down at the small shape. At least the kid's pain was over, but somehow, that didn't make him feel much better. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Maybe the kid would rise, just like he had. The lifeless body wavered under his vision, and a few minutes passed before he realized it was his eyes misting up.
“Shit!” He dug his boot into the dirt, a new hatred for what he was and what it meant boiling up. Killers. Goddamned killers. As Molly’s barks faded back into reality, the rational part of him realized that he needed to get out of there, away from the crime scene. He dragged himself over the fence and untied the dog with stiff hands.
The anger in his belly simmered, twisting away from himself and to the monster that’d left the kid for dead. He was only a few blocks from home. Could he really just go back when someone like that was killing so close to where his family slept? So close to Merril and Martin?
He looked again at the body lying on the other side of the fence, and thought of the figure he’d seen vanish across the yard.
Taking Molly with him, he scanned the other side of the house. Wide, booted footprints trampled the grass. Traces of red – likely unnoticed by the killer – painted the pattern of their left sole and marked their route across the sidewalk. West, in the direction of his house.
Something broke. He took off, chasing the bloodied footprints so quickly that Molly had to scamper to keep up. Death. Guilt. Blood. Horror. The killer would be the object of his anger. He’d find them, and tell them to get the hell away from his house. He'd tell them... He'd tell them that all of this... He screamed. A ragged scream meant more for the sky than the person he’d selected for his rage.
“Be quiet – you’ll scare them away.”
He nearly tripped over Molly’s leash as the female voice punctured his red haze. Steam escaped through the hole, leaving him stumbling around in confusion until he saw a pale brunette staring down at him from the roof of a nearby house.
“S-Sorrel!” He gaped, wide-eyed. It seemed she’d made a habit of popping up when he least expected it, too. Molly started barking again, pulling at the leash. It nearly slipped through his stiff fingers.
She blinked at the dog and wrinkled her nose. “They obviously don’t want to be found, so running around screeching isn’t going to do us any favors.”
His cheeks reddened as his senses seeped back into him – he must've looked downright insane. “You’re looking for them too? The killer, I mean?” It surprised him a bit. Sorrel hadn’t struck him as one to care about how others fed, no matter how cruel. She was the one who’d left him for dead, after all.
She frowned at the bewilderment in his voice, but her lips quickly sprung back to their trademark smile. “Don’t get me wrong – it’s not because I particularly care, myself.” She assured, as if reading his thoughts. “But there have been a handful of recent kills in this area, and we think it might be a troublesome rogue. I’m up this way a lot and know it well, so Dale asked me to look into it.”
…Why wouldn’t she meet his eyes when she spoke?
“Can’t have careless rogues leaving too many dead, you know? If it’s not just one or two, they’re taking more than they need to live.” She didn’t seem to notice his confusion. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“Eh?” That shattered his train of thought. “Of course not!”
“Didn’t think so.” She jumped from the roof, landing with her usual feline grace. She brushed off her long jacket – no doubt worn to protect her from the sun rather than the cold – and shot him a smile. “You’re much too soft.”
He found himself scowling as she stepped closer. “It…wasn’t you either, right?” The way she avoided his gaze almost made him wonder.
She stopped. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’d be ostracized for something like this. The prison is my home!”
Thinking it over, it’d been a dumb question to begin with. She didn’t match the figure he’d caught fleeing. She was tall for a girl, but the silhouette had been much broader and bulkier than her lanky shape. He looked down. “…Right.”
She was quiet for a few beats. “If you’re so worried about it, then how about you help me look?” Another distasteful glance at the dog. “Just keep that thing away from me, will you?”
****
Mason opened the door to his house and ushered Molly inside. He glanced around, but the living room was empty. Merril was probably up in her room, and going by the vacant driveway, it seemed Martin hadn’t returned yet from his errands.
That was just as well. Now he wouldn’t have to explain to either of them why he was leaving again without the dog. Molly clawed at the door, whimpering. He made sure it was latched and returned to where Sorrel was waiting a few houses down, just to be on the safe side. He didn’t want Martin, or especially Merril, catching sight of her.
“More of a cat person, then?” He jabbed, voice dry.
“Never been an animal person, period.” She answered simply. “They don’t like me much either; never have.”
“Really?” His lips curled in a slight smile. “So were you always this scary then, even before you rose?”
“Coward. That isn't it.” She smirked, but it didn't last long. “Just...don't really know how to deal with them, I guess. I did want a dog, once, but Dad never got me one. Suppose I got used to life without them – now they just seem like nuisances.”
She
hurried on ahead before he could say anything. “It looks like the footsteps go past your house. Let’s follow them for as long as we can and see if we spot anyone suspicious. Simple enough?”
Mason just blinked.
****
Their search was fruitless. Mason sighed, dragging his feet on the sidewalk.
The fading traces of blood led into the outskirts of Main Street – their rogue had fled not away from people, but towards them. In the midst of the crowd, signaling out any one suspect would be nearly impossible.
“What a waste of time.” He mumbled to himself, eyes watching the cement.
“Oh?” Sorrel’s sensitive ears caught him. “You’re the one who ran screaming down the street after them like some kind of lunatic. Don’t try to make it sound like I dragged you along.”
“No. It’s just…” His fangs dug into his bottom lip.
“Don’t worry.” Her voice lowered to an unusually solemn tone. “I’m sure your family is safe. The killer ran right on past your house, and if they realize there’s another vamp there, they’ll probably leave it alone.”
He raised his chin. “But how would they know? Is it really that obvious?”
“Yep,” she chirped. “You’re damn pale, and you’re walking with your fangs hanging out of your mouth right now. Humans don’t expect anything, so they don’t see it, but to anyone who knows about us, it’d be obvious.”
He sucked his teeth back into his jaw, flushing.
“There’s not a lot you can do about it, really.” Her feet tapped the sidewalk in their usual steady rhythm. “It’s just how we look. That’s one reason we need a place like the prison. You might be able to hide it now, but if the public ever starts learning of us, you’re screwed.”
He didn’t answer.
“Oh come on, cheer up!” She forced a grin, but it disappeared from her face just as quickly when she got no response. “I’m sorry, let’s not worry about that tonight.” Another small smile. “I don’t know about you, but I had fun, anyway! Even if it was just wandering around the city. I don’t get to do that much anymore, you know.”
