Thirst No. 4

by Christopher Pike

  On the far side of the cemetery, half a mile away, I hear a car start. Summoning every bit of Teri’s finishing kick, I race toward the sound. But I’m too late, all I do is catch a glimpse of a vanishing station wagon.

  Yet I see the license plate, a California plate, HJK2622. The IIC and Ms. Brutran have offices in California, a fortress I’ve been to. And faintly, I catch a glimpse of the driver. He looks like a she, like a woman.

  “What the hell?” I mutter.

  Why would someone want my dead body?

  My vampiric blood would be of no use to them.

  Who knew I was dead?

  Did we have a spy in our group?

  A wave of fatigue sweeps over me. I’ve had enough exercise for one night. Outside the cemetery, I flag down a taxi and ride back to the Hilton. I’m practically at its doorstep when I redirect the cab to the Sheraton, where Paula Ramirez and her son are staying. It’s time I talked to John. I feel he owes me an explanation.

  Paula answers the door, wearing red and white cotton pajamas. As usual, she doesn’t look surprised to see me. It’s hard to take a psychic by surprise. At the same time, she doesn’t look happy to see me.

  “Teri. It’s late. What can I do for you?”

  I push her aside and she gives way before me.

  “I’m not Teri and you know it, so drop the act,” I snap, glancing around, looking for her son. I can hear him in the adjoining room. He sounds like he’s playing a computer game. Does the kid do anything else?

  Paula folds her arms across her chest. “I sensed it. I wasn’t sure.”

  “Right.”

  “Believe what you want.” She pauses. “How did it happen?”

  “That I switched bodies? Gee, I don’t know, isn’t that more up your alley?”

  “Sita, stop. I had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

  “Can your son say the same thing?”

  Paula hesitates. “I don’t know.”

  “I want to talk to him. And don’t tell me he’s busy or he doesn’t want to talk to me. I saved his life. My daughter died saving him. Even if he is a divine incarnation, he can stop playing his goddamn game for ten minutes and answer my questions.”

  My rudeness is left over from the last time I tried to talk to John, on the Greek island Santorini. That was only a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t even see me.

  Paula considers. “All right, let me talk to him, tell him you’re here. But I warn you . . .”

  “No threats, Paula, I’m not in the mood.”

  She leaves and is gone longer than I expect. But when she reappears she nods and gestures for me to enter the last room on the right, the master suite. As I trudge down the hall to confront John, my anger and impatience vanish. Either I hold the kid in too much awe or else he deserves it. My heart pounds harder than when I was running. My mind goes blank. What does one say to a god?

  John sits cross-legged in the center of a king-sized bed with a laptop resting on his thighs. He’s a nice-looking guy, sixteen, close to seventeen, with a mature demeanor that makes him appear older. His hair is longish, dark and wavy, and his eyes are big and dark. He has lowered the laptop screen and removed his pair of headphones and is no longer focused on the computer. His eyes rest on me, or perhaps on a place ten million miles behind me.

  I’m in the room two seconds and I cannot escape the feeling that he sees right through me. I stand at attention, waiting for him to make the first move. He gestures to a chair on his right.

  “Have a seat,” he says in a calm voice, or should I say a magical tone. Three simple words and a wave of peace washes over me. My frantic heart slows, my whole body is suddenly at ease. I have to grope with my hands to find the chair because my eyes refuse to look anywhere other than at him.

  Yet he’s just a kid. It makes no sense. Nothing does.

  He stares at me a long time. I stare back.

  “John,” I whisper.

  He gives a faint nod. “What do you need?”

  “I need to know who you are.”

  “You ask with words. That’s natural. Your mind is filled with words. Most people think with the language they were first taught. You know many languages, but still, every concept you carry with you, every idea you have, is created from words.” He pauses. “But words cannot describe what I am.”

  The way he speaks, the beautiful simplicity of his words, he sounds like Krishna. “Are you Krishna?” I ask.

  “Krishna is a word.”

  “Krishna is more than an ordinary word. It’s a mantra that’s supposed to embody the vibration of the supreme. Do you represent that vibration?”

  “Of course. As do you and everyone else you know.”

  “I can think of a few people who have nothing to do with Krishna.”

  “You refer to the Telar and the IIC. You consider these people evil. To be disconnected from the supreme.” He shrugs. “But they’re no more separate from the whole than the Light Bearer.”

  I gasp. “Lucifer!”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know I was thinking of him?”

  “I can see it on your face.”

  I hesitate. “Something terrible happened to me ten days ago. I took a Telar captive, a woman named Numbria. While I was interrogating her, I fell asleep and dreamed about being trapped in hell. Only it was much more than a dream. I felt like I was really there, as if I was having a vision. At the end of it Lucifer came to me and I saw into his heart, or else he told me what he was. And I understood that he really was the Light Bearer, the greatest of all the angels. He knew it, that was the weird part, but he denied it because he hated God so much, even though he knew he was one with God.”

  “Why was the dream so awful?”

  I cannot stop the harshness from entering my voice. “It was awful because when I awoke from it I committed an atrocious act. The woman I was questioning—I ate her alive, slowly, horribly, with her screaming for mercy.” I stop. “I haven’t been the same since.”

  “You were under the sway of a powerful compulsion.”

  “I know, the Array invaded my mind and forced me to do it. But it makes no difference. Ever since I did it, I feel tainted somehow, like I’m now linked to Lucifer and everything he represents.”

  “You are. He’s the Light Bearer. He’s one with his God.”

  “That’s . . . that’s sick.”

  “It’s true. It’s a paradox. The truth often is.”

  “Can you take this tainted feeling away?”

  “You experienced it for a reason. It will help you later. Best you hold on to it for now.”

  “How the hell can it help me?”

  John doesn’t answer, but smiles faintly.

  I ask the question I should have started with.

  “What did you do to me at the cemetery?”

  “You were ready to die but you were afraid to die. A part of you wanted to go on living. It was the same with your friend. Only your will was stronger than hers.”

  “So you put me in this body?” I ask.

  “I strengthened your hold on it. You were already attached to it.”

  “But why? If you had just left things alone, Teri would have grown accustomed to being a vampire. She would be here instead of me.”

  “When you were alone together in the cave, she asked you to let her be. She did not want to die but she accepted it was her time. But you refused to let her go.”

  “Are you saying I’m stuck in this body because of karma?”

  “That’s one reason.”

  “What’s another?”

  “You’ve lived a long life, through an entire age. You’ve done many deeds, some great, some not so great. But there are still a few tasks left for you to accomplish. Your soul knew that, and for that reason, it was reluctant to leave this world.”

  His words are hard to accept. I want to argue with him. But a part of me knows he speaks the truth. “What’s to become of Teri?” I ask.

  “She’s dead.”
<
br />   “But I feel her around me at times.”

  “That feeling will pass.”

  “That’s not fair. You have to bring her back.”

  “You’ve read the Gita. You know the answer to that.”

  I nod sadly. “All who are born die. All who die will be reborn.”

  “Yes.”

  “The Gita also says that whoever thinks of Krishna at the moment of death goes to his abode. What happened to me when I died? How come I didn’t see him?”

  “You don’t remember what you saw.”

  “Then help me remember!” I plead. “I need to see him again.”

  “What will you do if you see him? Will you be able to leave him?”

  I understand what he is trying to tell me. “You’re saying I have to complete these tasks before I can go to his abode.”

  He nods. His computer beeps and he raises the screen and hastily pushes a button. He turns back to me and sits silently.

  “Why do you play that goddamn game?” I remember that Seymour had played the game with John. It was called Cosmic Intuitive Illusion, CII; IIC spelled backward. I remember what Seymour said when I asked what the goal of the game was.

  “Survival. But all games are about that. It starts on earth and you have to fight your way out of here to higher, more exotic worlds. The ultimate goal appears to be to reach the center of the galaxy.”

  “To let the others know I’m here,” John replies.

  “Who are the others?”

  “You’d do better to ask what is behind the Array.”

  “If I discover that, will I know who you’re playing against?”

  “You’ll have a better idea.”

  I feel frustrated. “Is all this a play to you? Our struggle with the Telar and the IIC? Do you just watch and wait? At the last moment are you going to make everything all right?”

  “This is a world of choice.”

  “You’re saying you cannot interfere with our freedom of choice?”

  John nods. His computer beeps and he hits another button. I hear an electronic explosion and hope one of the bad guys has bitten the dust.

  I know he is about to ask me to leave, so I persist with my questions. But I phrase the next one differently. I make it a statement and verbally force him into the position of Krishna.

  “But you do interfere,” I say. “You’ve saved me a number of times.”

  John stops playing his game, pushes down the screen, reaches out, and brushes the hair from my eyes. Our eyes lock and I feel I never want him to let go. His eyes are no longer dark brown but a black blue, and so deep, so bright, I feel that if I fall into them I’ll fall forever and never want to stop. His love is blinding; it obliterates everything else. I almost forget why I came to him, what I asked or how he answered. I just feel safe, eternally protected, and he confirms the feeling when he tells me the same thing Krishna did five thousand years ago.

  “Sita. My grace is always with you.”

  FIVE

  The next morning we hold a war council in Seymour’s hotel room. I don’t know what else to call it. The world is threatened by two rival groups, both powerful, both mad, and we’re the only ones who are foolish enough to try to stop them. I suspect if the Telar or the IIC were to eavesdrop on our meeting, they would laugh their heads off. There are so few of us and our wills are totally divided.

  However, everyone in our group comes to the meeting except John. I’m surprised to see Paula present and briefly worry if she plans to expose me. But she gives me a look early on that tells me to relax. She’s there to help, not to break Matt’s heart or get me killed.

  The first topic of concern is the X6X6 virus. Haru, the leader of the Telar, has indicated he’s going to release it worldwide, with the hope of wiping out the bulk of mankind. Charlie, a nerdy scientist who has worked with the Telar for two hundred years—but who has recently joined our gang—has with him vials of the virus and the vaccine, which he calls T-11.

  Unfortunately, Seymour and Shanti have had shots of the vaccine and are still showing signs of the infection. Naturally, this makes us wonder if T-11 even works.

  “Why are Seymour and Shanti still sick?” Matt asks Charlie.

  The scientist doesn’t look a day over twenty, but he’s an amusing example of an immortal. He has a facial twitch that causes his right eye to blink whenever he speaks. He paces anxiously as he answers.

  “A vaccine isn’t usually a cure, although most people think of it that way. You see it all the time on the news. People say, ‘When are they going to come up with an HIV vaccine so all the people with AIDS can be cured?’ But a vaccine is designed to prevent a disease, not to cure it. And Seymour and Shanti were already infected with X6X6 when they got their first shot of T-11.”

  “But the shot seemed to stop the virus dead in its track,” Matt says. “All of us got better at first, and Teri and I continue to feel fine. It’s only Seymour and Shanti who are showing signs of a relapse.”

  “You have a few black blisters,” Charlie says to Seymour and Shanti. “But you two feel okay, don’t you?”

  “I feel fine,” Shanti says. “Except my face itches where I had plastic surgery.”

  “My hands itch like crazy,” Seymour replies.

  “Do you feel better since I gave you another shot this morning?” Charlie asks.

  “I do,” Shanti says.

  “I’m not sure,” Seymour says, doubtful.

  Charlie continues to pace. “Your case is unusual. I gave you guys the vaccine just a few minutes after you got infected with the virus. The two compounds overlapped in your bodies in ways we won’t see in the general population.” Charlie pauses when he realizes what he’s saying. “That is, if we’re lucky enough to duplicate the vaccine and get it out to the world in time.”

  “A big if,” Seymour grumbles.

  Matt holds up his hand. “Let’s not go there yet. I want to know if the vaccine works, period. If it doesn’t, then there’s no point in trying to get help to spread it globally.”

  “T-11 is definitely effective on Telar,” Charlie says. “It was designed with them in mind. After personally vaccinating five hundred Telar with T-11, I exposed them to the virus and nothing happened. They were immune.”

  “So Telar and vampires like me are safe,” I say. “What about the other seven billion people on the planet?”

  Charlie stops pacing and shrugs. “It must work to some extent on humans. Otherwise, Seymour and Shanti would be dead. It just has to be tweaked to accommodate a mortal immune system.”

  “That’s the bottom line,” Matt says to Charlie. “Can you alter it to protect everyone?”

  Charlie hesitates. “Yes.”

  “But . . . ,” Seymour says, letting the word hang.

  “But I’ll need a state-of-the-art laboratory and time,” Charlie says. “A few brilliant chemists and microbiologists helping out wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Can you make up a list of human scientists that can help you?” Matt asks.

  Charlie considers. “I have Telar friends that would be more helpful.”

  Matt’s face darkens. “Who can you trust?”

  “Those close to me. They’re not fans of Haru or anyone connected with the Source,” Charlie says.

  I recall that Numbria, the Telar woman I interrogated and murdered, referred to the Telar high command as the Source. I got the impression there were only a dozen or so people on their high council.

  “But they still fear the Source,” Matt says.

  “Of course,” Charlie says. “We all fear them.”

  “I want to stick with human scientists for now,” Matt says. “It will be safer. Later, if you’re not making progress, we can consider contacting your Telar friends.”

  “How do we approach these scientists?” Seymour asks. “We can’t run around saying the world is ending. We need proof that the Telar exist and we need proof that they intend to release X6X6.”

  “The contagious effects of the virus are e
asy to demonstrate,” Charlie says.

  “In a lab, sure,” Seymour says. “But how are we going to get these brilliant men and women into your lab?” He turns to Matt. “You’ve been kicking around forever. You must have contacts in the government.”

  “I know important people in this country and across Europe. They’ll take my calls if I contact them. But the moment I do, the Telar will know about it and they’ll come after me and whoever I talk to.”

  “Then we’re screwed,” Seymour says.

  Matt gives him a hard look. “That’s helpful. Give up at the start.”

  “I’m just being pragmatic,” Seymour says. “Charlie’s told us that he and his Telar buddies have been working on the X6X6 virus for over twenty years. Do you seriously think he’s going to be able to modify it in two weeks so that it works on mortals?”

  Matt turns to our resident scientist. “Charlie?”

  Charlie is so hyped, he’s close to pulling out his hair. “I don’t know. I could stumble on a cure in an afternoon. Or it could take six months.”

  “When does Haru plan to release the virus?” Seymour asks.

  “No one knows for sure,” Matt replies.

  “We heard it was going to be soon,” Charlie adds.

  “We’re screwed,” Seymour repeats, not afraid to look Matt in the face when he says it. Yet it’s Charlie’s last remark that deflates the room. Our timetable for stopping the virus appears to be a fantasy.

  It’s time for me to speak what’s on my mind.

  Time for me to sound dangerously like Sita.

  “We can’t stop the Telar without the IIC’s help,” I say.

  “I disagree,” Matt says. “We have vials of T-11 and X6X6. We have Charlie, who helped create the virus and the vaccine. The IIC has nothing.”

  “Then we should give them what we do have,” I say.

  Matt studies me closely, alert to my tone, my choice of words, my way of thinking. There are so many ways for him to penetrate my disguise. But I’m careful; I’m good at mimicking Teri.