When he was still a midshipman on the São Cristóbel, he kept watch at night. He had passed his seventy-fifth year as a nocturnal, which meant he could tolerate the daylight, but he preferred the solace of the ship in the dark and often volunteered for the post.
As we sat on the deck of the small sloop tonight, he recalled the mythical creature. “She ’ad gold ’air like ze old French coin wiz skin as white as snow and leeps as red as ze blood I seeped.” He swore he could hear her singing, calling for him to join her. She danced up and down on the foam of the dark sea, her hair thrashing about in the wind. Her breasts were lush, exposed above the water. “’Er neck,” he said. “She showed ’er neck to me wiz ze promise of succulence.” He said that he pulled out his telescope to get a better view and when he put the magnifier to his eye, she was but an arm’s length away. He reached for her and felt his cold hand burn at the imaginary touch. Her eyes were like fire. “Le Diable,” he said. “Le Diable.” He was convinced she was the devil. “I pulled ze telescope away,” he said. “And she was gone. No’zing but ze angry waves left.” He said her song stayed in his head for days, as he longed for her return. “She never came back,” he said.
“You hallucinated,” I said. “Probably from the opiates in a wounded man’s blood.”
“Ah, merde.” He shooed at the stream we floated down, offering it his tsk-tsk.
I believe Jean saw what he did. I am no skeptic, I am a vampire, and I come from irregular stock too. My mother was a naiad, an early shapeshifter. But that is a story for another time …
12 October. — We have been on the water for two nights now. We are starved and weak, though the girl is safe and we have had luck catching fish for her to eat. Stephen and Veronica found rods and lures below the boat’s deck our first night aboard. The perch is a mild fish, despite its pungent aroma, and she eats it courageously, for it is served to her raw. We cannot have the smell of fried fish wafting through the air; cooked flesh may welcome others.
The water is calm, empty, abandoned. My clan keeps watch, as I guard the girl below, afraid they may be tempted. It gives me time to pore over Byron’s notes, and I am well aware—
13 October. — My previous entry was cut short when Jean called me up on deck. His excitement was unmistakable, and I hoped his Siren had returned. I had been below since the sun set and when I surfaced I saw the tiny crescent of a moon way up in the sky. The clan was gathered at the helm and I rushed to meet them. “Là bas!” Jean pointed toward the dark shoreline.
“What is it?” Elizabeth said.
Stephen and Veronica were huddled together, she having grown weak and finding it difficult to focus. I wondered when her beloved would beg me to let her feed on the girl. I avoided that confrontation daily. I am by far the strongest vampire on the ship, and I know they cannot defeat me with a mutiny, for I could destroy each and every one of them. Doing so, however, would break me in ways I cannot explain.
“It’s moving,” Stephen said, as he pointed to the shadow along the shore.
The thing was difficult to see because it was not giving off any heat. At first I could only make out a shadowed outline rustling in the brush, but as we floated along the river’s edge, I recognized the danger. The shadows multiplied and seemed to grow larger, as they came closer. Multiple swarms, countless swarms spun toward the river’s edge, as we watched the shoreline in disbelief. The howls of bloodless reached us, as they bayed at the passing ship.
“We’re safe on the water, right?” Veronica said.
I assured her we were, though I began to doubt it, and within seconds my fears were realized. To my horror, the bloodless dropped one by one into the water. Like rats driven out of a forest by fire, they plunged off the bank and into the river. We watched as hundreds of bodies dove in head first and came back up chomping their wolframlike jaws. Our sails were down since the wind had died and without a drop of gasoline in our tank, we only coasted. As the bloodless moved through the water toward us, all we could do was watch.
“Qu’est-ce qu’on fait?” Jean’s look of panic gave me resolve.
“Shall I get the girl?” Elizabeth asked.
“No.” I was certain the bloodless could not climb up the side of the sloop, but they were resilient to water and I had no idea what drove them so fiendishly toward us. Swarms made their way through the current, coming at speeds I had not seen them reach before.
“They’ll get to the boat,” Stephen said.
“But they will not get on board,” I said.
I ordered the others to pull up the ropes and ladders hanging over the sides and to release the lifeboat at the stern of the ship.
“What if we need zis to escape?”
“They will not breach the ship.” I was adamant on that point.
We stood on the deck, watching the heads in the water get closer. At least a hundred closed in on the sloop, clambering over one another, snapping their jaws like a gaggle of gulls fighting for measly scraps. “Lower ze mainsail!” Jean yelled.
He and Elizabeth let fly the sheets on the mast, trying to catch what bit of wind they could, but it was pointless. The air stood still.
“Should I shoot at them?” Stephen said.
We had found spear guns with the fishing supplies.
“It will not stop them,” I said.
“They are coming around to the bow!” Elizabeth said.
“The stern too,” Veronica said.
In a frenzy, the bloodless surrounded the sloop, getting as close to its hull as possible. From above we must have looked like a cube of sugar attacked by a farm of ants. They toppled over one another, sending each other under the water. I panicked when I realized the weight of them could sink the boat. The sloop would not stay afloat if they pulled it down.
Elizabeth peered over the side and almost fell over when one of them climbed up on top of another and grabbed her hand. Her scream drowned out their howls and I jammed my boot into his jaw. The whole bottom part of his mouth fell away, though it did not stop him. With one more fierce kick, I tossed his head back, severing it from his spine. It seemed the wolframlike bones were no challenge for my adrenaline. Jean gave up the sails and went to the prow, trying to prevent them from getting onto the safety net dangling below. Stephen and Veronica were on the other side of the deck whacking at them with their fishing poles. I had not thought of the girl, even as the bloodless reached the railings and got onto the deck, but her voice snapped me from my fury. “Vincent?”
“Get back down,” I said. I growled at her and regretted the look of terror I put on her face. She turned on her heel and practically stumbled back down the hatch. I yelled for Elizabeth on the other side of me—she was the best choice, my only choice. She had shown the least amount of desire to feed off the girl. “Stay with the girl,” I said. “And cover her with the oil.” Elizabeth was in a daze, still shaken from the grab of one of them. I touched her shoulders and made her face me. I looked into her eyes, pulling her back to me, stopping everything around us, forcing her to see only me. “Elizabeth,” I said. “Have you heard my command?” She nodded and gave me a slight smile. “Repeat it back to me,” I said.
“Stay with the girl and cover her in oil,” she said.
Just then a bloodless flopped over the rail and onto the deck, lunging at her and clasping her wrist. Before she could scream, I pummeled his arm with my bare hands, my adrenaline rush accelerated by the danger. I did not hesitate to crush another as it came over the rail too. I swirled around and grabbed it by the neck, squeezing its throat between my fingers, ripping its head from its body and tossing it over the side of the rail. The one-armed bloodless that had grabbed Elizabeth rebounded and reached for her again. This time she fought him off, piercing his eye with her finger, forcing her entire hand into his socket and then using his head to batter the next that tried to attack her. I threw a few more bodies from my feet and pulled Elizabeth from the fray. As we made our way to the hatch, I body-checked several more, sending them over t
he rail and back into the black water. I lifted the hatch and helped Elizabeth down to safety. “Protect the girl,” I said.
When Elizabeth disappeared below, I sealed the hatch and headed for Jean. I ran to him, and with my rush of adrenaline ripped the bloodless from my longtime friend.
“Le pistolet!” Jean had a small gun strapped to the inside of his leg and tried to get it when several more grabbed hold of him. I reached for his gun and fired off shots—two then three, the bullets did not stop them and my effort was in vain. I hate myself for not stopping the bloodless little girl from coming up through the swarm and digging her teeth into Jean’s thigh. The infected child grabbed hold of my friend with her crocodile bite and did not let him go. “Maxine!” His cry of terror reached the stars and if his beloved were there, she would have heard his call.
When I finally severed the child’s head and tore her from his flesh, it was too late. She had left her mark on my friend, tearing out his weak skin, as Maxine’s had been ripped open. Jean was finished and I knew it. He would turn into a horror just like his beloved, forcing me to end his life. But I did not give up in that moment and freed my friend from the swarm that had breached the prow. When Stephen came to our aid, it was as if the attack had only begun. They persisted, climbing up on top of each other to get between the rails of the boat. Stephen grabbed Jean and threw him over his shoulder. “Get below,” he yelled.
We made our way to the hatch, where two bloodless scratched at the portal. I grabbed the first by its soaking strands of hair and yanked its head back, snapping it clean off. The jaw gnashed at me and I launched the head to the stern of the ship. The body dropped to the deck and reached for us, but I stomped on its limbs with vigor. Stephen twisted up the other bloodless with his blade and pulled its insides out. It was not long before more came and I threw open the hatch, sending Stephen down with Jean. The bony fingers of another caught me as I went down, but I was able to shake him loose before sinking below and sealing the portal.
I had no time to survey the deck, but knew they invaded us from all sides. Wet, bloodless bodies tossed themselves onto the sloop, clawing toward us, and the smell of the human. We gathered in the girl’s cabin, where she cried and lamented my outburst. Elizabeth consoled her until she saw Jean’s wound. I made certain none of the others were injured before turning my attention to him. “Let me see it,” I said.
“Je suis finis.” The most definitive sentence in French—he was done for. He knew his fate was just like Maxine’s and it was only a matter of time before he became one of them.
“Is there nothing we can do?” Elizabeth said. She held her emotion in check, though I could see she writhed inside.
“Let me help,” Veronica said. She rubbed a balm on Jean’s inner thigh where his flesh was torn out, just as Byron had done for Maxine.
“You ’ave to escape,” he said. “Zis is not ze end.”
I had run out of ideas. We were never going to get through those monsters with the girl even if we drowned her in incense. They had detected her smell from a distance, and their energy peaked with their baptism in the river. The water made them supercharged, frenzied like vampires to blood. “We are trapped,” I said.
“Non,” Jean said. He spoke through clenched teeth. The pain was clearly unbearable. “I weel get you out.” Despite the anguish, the fever, the unsettling reality of his situation, he proposed a plan for our escape. It was a tactical nightmare, but Jean insisted he had seen it work when a British ship breached the São Cristóbel.
“We have to give it a try,” Stephen said.
“And the girl?” I did not believe she was up for the physical will his plan entailed.
“I can do it,” she said. Her feminine voice was a stranger among the tenor of the vampires. She was brave, knowing there was a strong chance she would not survive the escape. Byron would have never approved of my putting her life in jeopardy this way, but I had no other option. If she did not survive, at the very least we would.
“This is the only way,” Veronica said.
I could barely look at the wasted vampire when she spoke. Her emaciated frame was frail and weak, a constant reminder of my failure to keep them safe. For a moment, I considered feeding off the girl. If each of us nourished ourselves on her blood, we could escape unscathed, we could free ourselves from the deathtrap if only … if only …
And then what Vincent? I heard Byron’s voice as clear as when he spoke into my thoughts. And then what? “We will try Jean’s plan,” I said.
I delegated their assignments and encouraged them with my resolve. The bloodless were noisy up on the deck and we could hear them bearing down on the hatch. By now a super swarm had most likely toppled the rails of the sloop, and it would not be long before the deck would collapse, if the boat did not sink altogether.
Jean’s plan was to puncture a whole in the ship’s stern and escape through the opening into the rush of water. The sloop would certainly sink, but we planned on getting far enough away before it did. The weight of our bodies would sink us, and we could walk along the bottom of the river to the bank on the other side. We do not need to worry about holding our breath underwater—air is inconsequential. But for the girl, time would be of the essence. I planned to cradle her in my arms, hoping she could hold her breath long enough.
When Stephen and Veronica took axes to the inside of the hull, the rest of us waited in the cabin at the bow of the ship. I held the girl in my arms, ready for when the water rushed in. “I will tell you when to take your last breath,” I said. She did not move, but I could feel her cling to me more tightly.
When Stephen signaled for us to come, we waded through the cabin to the opening in the hull. We had to go under before we could get out, and I encouraged her to breath in deeply. “One last one,” I said. “Hold it.” She filled her lungs and closed her mouth. I dunked us beneath the water and headed directly to the opening. Veronica and Stephen had already escaped and were on the look out for bloodless. Elizabeth and Jean followed in the rear. I suppose I should have known. I should have realized that he would save us all.
The girl was tucked into my chest, as Veronica and Elizabeth flanked me and Stephen rushed ahead to the bank. We assumed the other side of the river was empty. Making our way across the silt at the bottom of the stream, we only saw a few frantic stragglers at the water’s surface. The bloodless seemed more prone to float than sink, and their legs dangled overtop us, as we made our way across the bottom. When we finally surfaced, I laid the girl on the dirt. Elizabeth examined her while Stephen and Veronica checked the perimeter.
“She’s not moving,” Elizabeth said.
“Is she breathing?” I asked.
The girl’s eyes were closed but from where I stood it looked as though her chest was moving. Elizabeth leaned in and listened for her heartbeat. “I don’t hear anything,” she said.
I bent down and put my hand on the girl’s chest. She did feel dead. I touched her cheek with my palm, tapping it softly to revive her. I placed two fingers near her clavicle and waited to feel her pulse—she was not breathing. I coaxed the blood to flow, teasing it out with my dreadful desire to taste it.
“You must bring her back,” Elizabeth said. She could not hide her sorrow this time and gently caressed the girl’s face with the back of her hand. “She cannot be dead,” she said.
I shooed her away and tilted the girl’s head back, opening her mouth wide and clearing her airway. I placed my mouth on hers and blew an artificial gust of air from my lungs without thinking about my lips on hers, how close my fangs were to her skin, the deliciousness of her blood and the sweetness of the child growing inside of her. All I thought about was bringing her back to life. I pressed on her chest, counting the pumps in my head—one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two three. I placed my lips on hers again when I felt her stir and gave her another gust of air. When I sensed the jolt of heat through her veins, I pulled my mouth away and turned her on her side before the surge of water erupted
from her lungs. She coughed and then inhaled deeply, trying desperately to catch her breath.
Elizabeth’s squeal of joy pulled me from my haze, and I let her take my place beside the girl. I did not see her open her eyes, but I knew I had revived her. I tasted her on the tip of my tongue, not realizing I had pierced the inside of her lip with my subtle fangs when I resuscitated her, drawing the smallest amount of blood which lingered for hours.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
Only then did I notice we were alone. I looked to the water and saw a magnificent glow on the river. Stephen and Veronica stood on the bank watching it too. The sloop had erupted in fire, gone up in flames to burn the bloodless trapped on it. The bonfire of monsters roared, as distorted flesh roasted on the boat-sized spit.
“How?” Stephen asked.
“Jean,” Elizabeth said, as she came up behind me. “Jean stayed behind.”
Veronica turned to us with those awful human tears in her eyes. “He’s gone.”
I knew it then if I had not known it before. He never planned to leave the sloop. He took the canisters of propane from the galley and the flares from the tackle box, going back up on deck to light his pyre. He would have had to wait for the last possible moment to light the fire, making sure we had reached safety. The torture would have been horrific. He sacrificed himself for us—and I will remember you, my friend, for it is because of you that I am still here.
As the fire burned, I thought of the hell we were forced to face, nowhere now and lost along the riverbank. The girl called me to her and the softness in her voice made me recall the taste. Hours later and it lives in me still. She sat up, her bright eyes welcoming me beside her. She did not look like someone who had barely escaped death. She held a small plastic bag in her hand, and it was not until I sat beside her that I realized what it was. “I saved this for you,” she said.
When she handed me my journal, I was touched. She had saved my history in the small pocket of her robe, safely tucking between its pages my beloved Byron’s notes. Now it was I who gushed with gratitude. “Thank you, Evelina.”
The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier (Book 1) Page 6
