by Rook, Rowan
Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe the whole incident would melt into nothing but a fresh batch of ill-organized rumors.
Any hope of that died the moment he reached the prison. The residents were already gathered by the front gate, one segment waiting by Alex while the rest clung to Dale.
The woman outstretched her arms. “What would you suggest then, boss? Would you have us wait here for them to make a move? We have power, but they have numbers. If we’re going to win, we have to strike first, before they have the chance to prepare!”
“There is no ‘winning’, Alex!” Dale’s voice was just as loud. “This isn’t a damn game!”
“Oh? The prize is our lives, so I’d say this is a competition as high-staked as any. You call yourself our leader, but would you have us all die like Errol?”
Mason stopped. Would it be better to turn around and avoid getting involved? They already knew everything. He could still slink away. But…
Alex leaned in on Dale. “We can’t hide here forever! They’ll find us, and we’ll lose our future. We're the world's successors, but if we want what's ours, it’s time for us to reach out and take it!”
Dale pushed forward, bridging what remained of the gap between them. “Murder won’t stop murder. We don’t want war. If we attack now, we’ll be proving all of them right!”
“Oh? So you’re going to pretend we aren’t monsters, then? Humans have always been a race of murderers and thieves – we’re nothing but the next evolution. Nature runs by survival of the fittest. It always has. And now that title belongs to us.” She met the eyes watching her, one by one. “We are the seed that will inherit everything humans are about to leave behind, but to reap our harvest, we must plant our crop now!” She paused, filling her lungs with air and noise before bellowing it out. “We must strike first! We must show them just what kind of ‘monsters’ we are!”
Clamor rose from the crowd. Vampires reached for the sun with cheers and shouts while others cowered or cried out in protest.
A particularly loud, high-pitched howl grabbed Mason’s ears. A girl with brown, pony-tailed hair stood by Alex, throwing her fist in the air. Her grayish blue eyes were bright, eager…and hungry.
Sorrel.
Something inside him twinged, like a string wound far too tightly.
Sorrel was one of Alex’s ‘people’?
She paused, their gazes meeting. Something flickered there, just briefly. Was it guilt? She folded her hands and looked away, but not before her surprise caught the eyes of a few others nearby.
Alex spun his way with a smirk. “Oh, and who do we have here? The runner who set the city up in arms with his distinguished palate?”
Mason stared back defiantly, silent.
Her lips curled. “Quite bold, really. You escaped without getting caught too, unlike my poor Errol. Sorrel is right. You have natural talent, and we could use that on our side. What do you say?”
He didn’t dignify the question with an answer. “Are you…going to hurt people?”
She laughed. “Why, yes. Silly child, haven’t you been listening at all? Violence is the only universal currency. And after what they did to Errol, they brought this on themselves, don’t you think? If we don’t go after them, they’ll go after us.”
“You're wrong!” An image of Merril flashed through his head. “Most people aren't like that! You can’t just –”
She turned away. “Very well, then. I guess I underestimated you. How disappointing.” Another wide glance at the followers gathered around her. “Let’s move. We wait for no man and no man waits for us!”
They were going to hurt people. People like Merril. Like Martin. Like the classmates who sat across from him at lunch, the old woman who always walked her dogs in front of his house, and the little kids who played tag in the yard next-door. People who wanted nothing more than to live out their last years in peace.
His hands hardened into fists. “Just because we’ve been swallowed up by murder doesn’t mean we have to take the rest of the world with us!”
She stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“They don’t have long. If we’re the future, then isn’t our goal to survive, not to kill?” His lungs ached - it was the first time he'd turned them up so loud since he'd stopped breathing.
Alex just laughed. “To kill is to survive. We’re all animals, both humans and vampires alike. A hunter has to claim its territory. We’ll clean out this town, gain as many newcomers as we can, then leave for a place with less hostile prey.” She shot him a last grin. “Stay here with the rest of the children, boy.”
She was off with wild speed, leaping across the soil with the grace of not a cat, but a tiger. Others followed, trailing the woman they’d chosen as their leader, even as Dale tried to stop them. His pleas slipped meaninglessly through Mason’s ears while he watched them surge into the city like a pack of wolves.
Merril. Martin. Was this…really happening? This couldn’t be happening!
All he’d wanted was to live his life as normally as possible, and whether Alex succeeded or not, that simple hope was about to be destroyed.
He spun towards the familiar figure who’d lingered behind. Her eyes met his, pleading soundlessly with him to come.
He shook his head. “Sorrel…!”
“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes. “I spent my human life doing nothing but sitting and watching, at the mercy of everyone else.” A resolute gray hardened her eyes when she opened them. “I won’t spend this one the same way. Maybe you shouldn't, either.”
Then she was gone, joining the rest in a group about fifteen strong. Alex had claimed over half the prison.
For a long time, Mason just stared, watching them carry away any hope he’d had left of a normal life. It took a while for Dale’s voice to cut through the ice in his head.
“…Stop! Stop them! If they reveal themselves, it’s all over! They may be the one’s who’ll start it, but it’s the humans who’ll end it! Idiots!” He whirled on those who remained and spat out a bunch of names that didn’t mean much to Mason. “All of you, come with me! The rest of you, stay and protect our scientists and the synthetic blood project. That’s the key to our future, not slaughter – keep it safe at any cost. You hear me?”
Several vamps nodded, others rushed to join their leader. And after another round of shouts and whispers, most of the prison departed.
Mason half-expected to hear his name called, but he never did. It didn't matter. He still found his legs keeping pace with the others’, as they traced Alex’s footprints down the long dirt road.
****
The sidewalk smelt of blood by the time they reached the road, its tang heavy in the musty morning air. A man lay dead on the street, crimson staining his work suit and pooling with the rain beneath him. A woman matched him not a few feet away, and beyond her was a young man with a ripped backpack resting beside him, spilling out pencils and paper like innards.
Mason didn’t feel his legs anymore. He didn't feel connected to his body at all, like this was nothing but an unpleasant dream born of last night’s fears.
They’d…really killed those people. Not in defense, not even to satisfy thirst. It was nothing but cold-blooded murder. The empty bodies were unarmed, dressed only for work and school. Innocent. Just like the boy slain at the side of his bed.
A distant scream broke the silence and slowly summoned a chorus. The vampires weren’t even stopping to drink. No, the wasted blood spilt all over the cement testified for that. Their intention was simple: carnage. Death. To take as many lives as possible in as little time as possible, as if it really was all some sick game. His body flushed with heat, like it was still alive.
“Go in groups of three.” Dale urged them forward. “Do whatever you have to do to stop them!”
The others did as he ordered, but Mason strayed away to the road leading to his house. “Sorrel!” His eyes whipped from east to west, but there was no sign of her or anyone else. There wasn’t so m
uch as a movement once he broke away from the crowd. The whole street was eerily silent, as if every ounce of life was already gone. “Sorrel!”
Why did he care so much? Why was he even looking for her? This was the girl who’d killed him. Who’d brought him into this wretched game!
But…he remembered the feline sparkle in her eyes and her equally feline grace. The haunting, innocent smile lighting her pale lips. The sorrow in her voice when she’d spoken of her own death and the life she’d lived before it. The way she’d kept him alive. But more than anything, he remembered the hope on her face as she’d talked about their new future.
Could he really just let her throw that future away?
He gulped down a big rush of air. “Sorrel!”
“Help! Someone! Help…!”
He spun, but the cry hadn’t been Sorrel’s. It didn’t belong to anyone he recognized.
“Help! G-get off! Get him off!”
He followed the voice without thinking, the screech grabbing him with cold fingers. It sounded close, but he didn’t see anything until a wordless wail drew him to a nearby fence. Peering through the posts, he saw a woman in what looked like her own backyard. With her was a vampire he recognized as Errol’s old companion, Steve, and in her hands was a garden rake.
The wide-eyed human swung it at the vampire's chest, tearing off shreds of his shirt and the flesh underneath. He didn’t bleed. He flinched, but it wasn’t enough to hold him off. His fangs reached for her neck and his arms reached for her shoulders.
Mason’s body reacted before his mind could. It wasn’t logical. In fact, it was very, very stupid, but he leapt for the larger man. He’d always been weak – the person picked last for sports teams and the person forced to remove a few weights from the machines in the school gym. As a vampire, he’d been gifted strength and agility greater than any human’s, but against one of his own, he was as small and weak as ever. He had just enough power to throw Steve to the side.
The bigger vampire kept his footing, countering with a spin that threw the smaller to the grass below. He flailed, struggling to get back up, but he wasn't fast enough.
A foot came down on his rib cage, knocking away whatever air he had left and pinning him down. He grimaced, trying not to whimper. He pushed against the boot, arms shaking from effort. He twisted his muscles, fighting to pull away. But it was useless. He simply wasn’t strong enough.
“Traitor!” Steve knelt, his nostrils flaring with the word. One of his hands grabbed Mason's chin and the other curled around his shoulder. "We were fine until you showed up! If you'd listened to us, if you hadn't fucked up, then Errol wouldn't have died!"
A wave of fear hit Mason in the back of the head when he realized just where Steve’s hands were – if he chose to, he could easily yank his head from his shoulders or twist it off his neck.
He screamed. His only answer was a dull, sickening thud.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the rake biting into Steve’s head. The woman trembled, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the wooden handle that her knuckles turned white. For a few beats, the attacker’s legs dangled uselessly beneath him. Then he fell. Mason shuddered as the body came down just inches from him.
He locked eyes with her, time stopping. The conflict had passed so quickly that it’d barely registered in his mind, but in one way or another, he and the human had saved each other’s lives.
Unfortunately, time pausing was only a cruel illusion.
Two more vampires burst over the fence and stopped at the sight of Steve's still body. Something must’ve splattered on Mason’s face – when they saw his, theirs twisted in anger.
One charged for the woman, the other charged for him.
Mason yelped, the bigger man grasping his already aching shoulders. The woman screamed too, her voice hitting his ears before cutting off. Shit. He kicked, shoved, struggled. He fought in vain to escape the grip. A fist smacked into his forehead and swirled his vision. Then came another. And another, each with increasing force.
Was the attacker trying to smash his skull?
“Stop! Stop!” He held up his arms, desperately shielding his only weak point.
His kin had no mercy.
He braced himself for another impact – each could be the last – but it never came. Another thud took its place. He slowly unclenched his eyes to see Dale standing over him, buried somewhere in his pulsing vision. There was a rock in his hands, something slick and wet coating its surface.
Mason jolted up with gaping eyes and gaping mouth, finding his attacker’s still body lying beside his own. Skull shattered. Dead. He grasped his aching head as shouts and jeers rose from nearby.
That’s right…the woman!
His heart sunk into his stomach when he turned around.
She was dead. The woman was dead, lying on the ground with two red holes in her throat. Her rake lay next to her, broken in two. The second vampire had killed her.
Something stung behind his eyes. He’d saved her! He’d saved that woman’s life! But now…
Why did he even bother trying? Nothing he did ever worked out, anyway. He met her limp eyes, apologetic. She’d been innocent. Surely innocent! Just a bystander in her own backyard. If he'd been different, if he'd been better, if he'd been more than a bystander himself for the whole of his human life, then...
Dale put a hand on his shoulder.
“This is your fault, you know. Yours and Errol’s!”
He looked up just enough to see the vampire who'd killed her shouting from the rooftop.
“If you hadn’t given Swalow the opportunity to make his move, we wouldn’t have been forced to make ours! Take some responsibility, why don’t you? Don’t leave us to clean up your mess!”
The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout, but a firm squeeze on the shoulder stopped him. Dale. “This is no one’s choice but yours.” His leader’s voice was solemn, steady.
Two more vamps from his group charged the one on the roof, but Mason’s eyes stayed on the muddy yard, flickering from corpse to corpse.
If this continued, they had nothing waiting for them but the scene in that bloodied backyard. The humans and the vampires both. Hah. Some heirs they were! Hadn’t the disaster in Rocher taught anyone anything? It was just the same!
He clenched his fists.
The dead woman’s dimming eyes stared at the sky in shades of green. They almost looked like…
Merril.
He jerked away from Dale, slipping down the street and towards his home before anyone could stop him. Forget about Sorrel. Forget about all of them.
If this was the seed they’d planted, he wanted no part in the harvest.
Chapter Twelve: Pale Lips
The door was locked when Mason bounded up his porch. He yanked a spare key from his pocket, but while the knob turned, it surrendered little more than a crack. He blinked, craning his neck to peer through the living room window. All he could see through the curtain's green veil was a vague mess of shapes. A barricade?
He abandoned the knob and tapped his fist on the door. “Martin! Merril! It’s Mason – I need to get in!”
“Mason!” It was Merril who answered, her quiet voice coming clearly through the walls. Suddenly, they seemed far too thin. “Come to the back door.”
He did as she said, hurrying across the deck. This time the door pulled open when he unlocked it with the usual key.
Merril waited on the other side, hands wrapped around an upturned coffee table. They passed each other relieved grins. One smile mirrored the other, but who it originated from was too close to call.
He bolted the door behind him, and she was quick to push the table back up against it. He helped her pile up a few more boxes from the kitchen until they had a decent barrier. Whether it would be enough to keep out a vampire truly determined to break in, he doubted, but even if it was false protection, it felt better than nothing.
Merril wiped her dusty hands on her
jeans, her smile drooping to a frown. “You picked a fine morning to go for a walk.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Y-yeah. I didn’t think…”
“Honestly, when I woke up and found both you and Martin gone, and then heard everything going on outside…”
He stiffened. Had he heard that right? “Wait, Martin’s not here?”
She chewed her lip. “No, I was alone when I left my room this morning.”
Martin…wasn’t there?
He scanned his home, although it hardly looked like a home anymore. A thicker barricade enlisted the living room’s padded chairs and end tables to hide the front door, while dining chairs blocked the lower windows. Molly circled about the kitchen, whimpering and sticking close to her masters. The cat hid from the chaos beneath the couch, eyes wide. On the counter laid the same fire iron that’d pierced Sorrel’s neck. Mason couldn’t help a grim smirk – apparently, Merril had come up with the same idea.
At least she’d been wise enough to fortify the place as best she could. Why would Martin have gone and left her alone? He’d been the one who so fervently insisted they all stay home and stay together. He ground his teeth. Always there when he wasn’t needed and never there when he was. Utterly useless!
Swallowing down his anger, he dug into his pockets and pulled out his cell phone. A chuckle nearly escaped – a cell phone, how dull and utterly normal compared to everything else. It seemed strangely out of place. Dismissing his bleak amusement, he tapped out Martin's number.
Ring ring ring. The chime rose and fell hollowly – no answer.
“I’ve already tried that, of course!” Merril crossed her arms. “I tried calling you too, but you didn’t answer!”
He took the phone from his ear and looked at the screen – a voicemail with Merril’s number was in fact waiting for him. He hadn’t even noticed. “Sorry; I never heard it ring. I guess with everything going on outside...” Not a lie, although a prickle of guilt nipped the back of his neck. He’d been so concerned about Sorrel and the others that for a window of time, he’d almost forgotten about Merril and Martin.
