by P. N. Elrod
Blood was blood to me, whether it was in a horse or a human. Even the miniscule amount I took from Molly Audy was food, when it came down to absolutes.
I looked sideways at Drummond. He continued to steadily and stolidly walk me toward an ignominious death. Dare I try it?
And more importantly, dare I not?
I could get on without. Perhaps.
Survival and escape were all that mattered. It might be utterly revolting to have to drink from this man’s filthy throat, but my instincts, those newly formed by my changed condition and those already innate to my being, told me that this was my best chance to get out alive, if not my only chance.
In the overall scheme of the world, I judged myself to be of considerably more value than Ash, Drummond, or the others in their miserable, brutal troop of killers.
So be it.
Now I had to find a way of arranging things to my advantage.
* * *
We crested the top of the slope, and the cold tore at my inadequately protected body like a vengeful beast. I shivered violently again and held on to Drummond for warmth as well as support. Snow clung to our boots, slowing us. Ash cursed as he struggled along in our footsteps, the lantern light bobbing erratically about.
The other side of the slope led down to the Sound. Had I known we were this close, I’d have made some mention in my note to Father. This part of the coast was vaguely known to me, and my heart rose a little. It was hugely comforting to find I wasn’t totally lost in an unknown land.
The water was gray and dangerous; I should not have cared to venture onto its restless surface in such weather and worried that that was what Drummond and Ash were planning. Making myself more of an impediment than usual, I managed to get Drummond to halt by having my legs give out completely.
“A moment, for pity’s sake,” I cried in a thin, strained voice.
Ash caught us up.
“Keep movin’, let’s get it over with.”
“What . . . what will you do with me?”
“What do ye think?” He grinned down, mistaking my need to have details for more cowardice.
“Tell me! I’ve a right to know!”
My forceful insistence set him back a little, but he was too grudging to provide an answer.
I looked up at Drummond. “Please, sir. Tell me. If these are my last moments, let me not disgrace myself.”
Reluctantly, he said, “Yer to be shot.”
Interesting way to put it, I thought, as though someone else were to do the dirty work.
“With honor, as for a soldier?” I asked, my manner pleading for him to say yes.
“Aye, with honor.” There was contempt and amusement in his eyes. I pretended not to see it.
Ash spat, clearly having no use for what he must have perceived as a useless and trivial concept except when it suited him. He danced from one foot to the other from the cold. “Let’s git to it.”
We reached a level spot on the slope and turned into the slackening wind, taking a path that eventually wound itself toward the shoreline. The wind seemed to grab the air from my lungs, so it was just as well I had no need to breathe.
“Will you bury me?” I gasped out.
Drummond gruffly said, “At sea.”
I looked past him at the heartbreakingly bleak water in the near distance. Truly it was to be a cold, deep grave for me in every sense of the word. They must have thought by flinging my corpse into its grasp that I would never be found.
He correctly interpreted my expression. “Have to. Orders.”
“Orders from whom?”
He made no answer. Ash, probably. Or Knox. Or most likely no one at all. this was no military execution, but ugly murder. God, I hated them in that instant. It rose up in me, warming my bones, but I let no sign of it show.
We came to the point on the path where it went down to the shore, but Drummond ignored it and continued to go straight ahead, breaking a way through virgin snow. It was deeper here and the footing more treacherous, but his great size helped. He had tremendous strength and bulled through the increasingly higher drifts as though they weren’t there. The extra exertion was of no benefit to my head whatsoever. All I could do was hang onto him for balance and try not to fall.
We were rather far from the house.
And any help from there.
Good.
Drummond paused, waiting for Ash, who was having a harder time of it. The wind had died altogether, I noticed, and the sky . . . growing lighter. Even with the thick clouds of winter between me and the sun, I’d be unable to hold myself conscious once it cleared the horizon.
“Right,” said Ash. “Put ’im over there.”
I was guided to what I first thought to be a taller than usual drift. It proved to be a slight rise that cut off sharply on the other side. It dropped straight down into water. All they had to do was shoot me and roll the body off and let the sea carry it away or drag it to the bottom.
Ash watched as I worked it out and enjoyed my reaction of horror. Drummond remained impassive, and told me I’d have to stand on my own.
“I—I should like a blindfold, please.”
Ash’s face transformed into a study of indignant amazement. “What?”
“May I not have a blindfold? I should find it easier to take what is to come if I don’t have to see.”
He was practically speechless. “Of all the—”
“A last request, sir. As one man of honor to another.” How I nearly choked on those words.
He worked himself into a spate of name-calling, and I winced and clung to Drummond like a child seeking shelter.
“Let ’im,” said Drummond, as I’d hoped he would. He was exasperated, but with Ash, not me. Ash used more time venting his anger than it would have taken to grant my request.
“What?”
“ ’Tis not much to ask. ’E can use yer scarf.” Without waiting, Drummond let go his hold on me and backed away.
Damnation. I’d wanted one of them to go back to the house to fetch something suitable. Separating them would have made things easier.
“Might I also have some Bible verses?” I asked with rapidly increasing desperation.
“Got none, lad.”
Well. I should have expected as much from a house where no one could read.
“The blindfold,” I said. “Please . . . I—”
Drummond looked expectantly at Ash. With more cursing and complaint, he reluctantly untied the length of scarf that held his hat in place. He had to give his pistol and lantern to Drummond in order to do it properly. When he came forward to wrap it around my eyes, I lifted one hand in a begging gesture.
“Please . . . .”
“What now?”
“A moment to pray. Just a moment for a prayer for my soul’s comfort. Just a—”
I got another curse for an answer, but he made no other objection. I sank down to one knee. Drummond was now too far away to reach, but Ash stood right before me, clutching the scarf, impatient to finish the job and get out of the cold. I bowed my head.
“Heavenly Father, forgive me my sins . . .” I began, and I meant it. To undertake such actions while in the middle of prayer must be sinful, but I had no other choice left. Surely God would understand.
I smashed my fist into Ash’s groin.
Oddly, he made no scream; I think the agony was too great to be vocalized, but his face was eloquent as he gasped, doubled over, and fell writing into the snow. I forgot about him as Drummond rushed up.
He had the pistol ready and could not possibly miss at so short a distance. He was hardly two yards away, the muzzle was as big as the door to hell, but I had to wrench my gaze from it to look at Drummond. Unlike the coward’s display I’d assumed earlier, I would face my death, if that was to come. I’d survived other woundings, but weak as
I was, was unsure of what might come. I braced for the shot, glaring at him.
He held off firing. Only stared. We stared at one another for what seemed like hours, and I couldn’t imagine why he hesitated. He gave no attention to Ash, who lay between us, curled around himself and grunting with agony; all Drummond did was look right back, unblinking, like a madman.
What was it? Was he hoping I’d beg? Why was he so still? Was it to break my nerve? What—?
Light. Lantern light for him to see clearly. To see me. For me to . . . .
With sudden comprehension, I staggered to my feet and told Drummond to throw his pistol down. He did. I told him to get to his knees. He did. His impassive face remained the same, hard as stone . . . but vacant about the eyes. I didn’t know him well enough to recognize the inner changes wrought when my influence had taken him over.
My hunger, in abeyance by so many distractions, now ripped its way back. Ravenous. Inescapable.
Unsteadily, I walked stepped over Ash and loomed behind Drummond. I told him to shut his eyes. He did. Then, with trembling fingers, I pulled away his rag of a neckcloth.
What happened next didn’t take long. Fortunate, since it was singularly unpleasant.
Except for the blood, of course.
I pushed his head away to one side to draw the skin taut over his exposed throat. My hunger overmatched the stink of his dirty skin and clothing. My teeth were out and my belly gave an inward twist, anticipating. Bending low, I cut hard into him, breaking through the tough skin and drinking that first glorious gust of life as it flooded forth.
He made a gagging sound, and not long after sobbed once, but otherwise held himself as quietly as any of the other beasts I’d fed on in the past.
His blood was different. Tainted in some way I couldn’t identify, but I liked the taint. It was comparable to the difference one finds between beef and venison. Both fill you, but one has the docility of the farm while the other yet holds to the wildness of the wood.
I drank deeply and well and felt the heat of it warm me from the inside out. Strength I thought lost returned and the pain . . . the dreadful pain from the disastrous blow he’d inflicted began to subtly fade. It had been so constant that now it seemed strange not to have it anymore.
Pain gone, hunger abated . . . no . . . fulfilled. I’d never had better.
When I drew away and licked my lips clean, I found that I’d never taken such absolute satisfaction from any food in all my life. Perhaps it was because it had been human blood, perhaps it was because it had come from an enemy and was suffused with his terror, for Drummond was now shuddering with it.
Finished, I shoved him to one side into the snow. He gaped back; tears from his wide-open eyes streamed down his cheeks. At some point he’d woken up from my influence and had been hideously aware of what I was doing to him.
I breathed in a great draught of air through my open mouth, unworried about that turn, nor could I raise a shred of pity for his distress. He was a murdering brute and had been rightly served a portion of the suffering he wreaked upon others. Had he fallen over stone dead from my feeding I’d have felt no regret. He would likely live, though, but for now seemed in the throes of a profound distress.
Good.
Finding the pistol, I walked over to Ash, and nudged him with a foot.
He burst out with a foul string of curses, not the wisest thing to do, but then I’d already noticed his singular shortage of brain and could shrug off the abuse. It did stop, however, when he saw I had Drummond’s pistol in my hand. I hoped its drop into the snow wouldn’t interfere with it being able to fire.
Ash glared, then started to cry out something, a call to Drummond for help, I thought, but he got the back of my hand against the side of his head hard enough to half-stun him. That silenced him and he lay quiet as I searched for those items of mine he’d claimed for himself out of the robbery, namely a gold snuff box and my money purse. I also found another purse full of coins, and a surprising quantity at that, which I thought must have come from other victims. This I put in with my own store. I had no need of it, but intended to turn it over to Father with the request that he donate it to our church. Doubtless that good place could put the funds to a better use than any Ash had ever planned.
It was growing lighter by the minute, though. If I was to try my influence with Ash, it would have to be—
“ ’Old right there, you!”
I looked up to see Abel and Seth standing just this side of the collapsed but still conscious Drummond, who had begun to moan. It was a frightful, wounded animal sound, uncanny in the still air, and had I not other matters to concern me my hair might have stood on end in reaction.
Abel had a pistol of his own pointed at me. Busy with Drummond and then Ash, I’d not heard their approach. I wondered how long they’d watched and how much they’d seen. Too much, from the stricken looks they wore. Abel kept trying to steal glances at Drummond, which made it hard for him to hold his weapon level.
“Devil!” he shrieked when he saw the blood on Drummond’s throat. “Ye filthy devil!” His hatchery face went red with rage and disgust and fear. The weapon went off. It may have been an accidental firing or not, but he was so beside himself with fury that it spoiled his aim. The thing roared and the air clouded with sudden smoke, but the ball completely missed me. He had one tiny moment to regret it, less than a blink of an eye, and I was upon him.
A clout on the jaw left him stunned, senseless and unresisting. I turned on Seth, but he’d backed away, mouth sagging and eyes popping, too frightened to move. As he watched, I dragged my cloak from his brother’s body.
The annoyingly redoubtable Ash was on his hands and knees bellowing at Drummond, who was not yet to the point of rousing from his shock. Damnation to them. If I had more time I could have stayed, changed their memories to my advantage, but the rising sun was against me. I had scant minutes, no more and probably much less. It was hard to tell for the clouds.
I had to get away.
Slogging fast over the open snow field was the best I could do. I threw the cloak around my shoulders and pulled it close, grateful for the brothers’ greed. The only reason I could think why they’d followed out after us was for Seth to lay claim to my boots before his friends dropped them—along with my body—into the Sound. Abel may have come to try for them himself one more time; that, or to enjoy the execution. Young Tully was probably still snoring.
I ran as quickly as possible, wanting distance between myself and the growing row behind me. Ash’s shrill voice rose high over the drifts, suffused with anger. I looked back once and saw him on his feet, shaking a fist at me. Without a doubt, he was a dangerous man, but also stupid and incredibly foolish; I still had the pistol.
A perverse fancy took me. I stopped and turned, arm out in the best dueling style, my pose and posture unmistakable. He ceased cursing, caught between horror and surprise. I pulled the trigger and was rewarded as it fired perfectly. The thing made a grand roar, and I had the satisfaction of seeing Ash and the others duck in dismay. They weren’t injured—I’d aimed just over their heads—but by the time they found enough courage to look again, they’d not be able to see me. I took that moment as the right instant to vanish.
The thought belatedly came that they’d follow my trail in the snow. They’d find my tracks ending in the middle of the field as though I’d vanished into the air, which, indeed, I had. Well, it was too late now. Let them puzzle it out and be damned.
Glad I was that the wind had died. There was just enough to give me a direction to push against, which I did with all my strength and will. I sped south and then west toward home, though I had not the faintest possibility of reaching it in time.
Panic?
Oh, yes. Quite a lot.
There was also the hope that once I’d put enough distance between myself and that band of patriotic cutthroats, I could go solid,
get my bearings and find shelter for the day. All I needed was a shack or barn, someplace to hide from the approaching sun.
I hurtled forward for as long as I dared, then re-formed. The light was nearly blinding. The snow-blanketed fields reflected it, increased it. I shaded my eyes and searched with desperate haste and hope for cover. Nothing, absolutely nothing, presented itself.
For want of anything better to do besides stand and gibber with fear, I vanished and continued forward. There were some trees in the distance, widely spaced and naked of leaves. Probably useless. Faster and faster I went until such senses as were left to me in this form gave warning that I’d reached my goal.
This next re-forming was more difficult. The light much worse. My fear all but choked me. The trees were useless. Even in the high summer with their leaves, their shade would not have been sufficient. They were too far apart. There was no other choice, though. Perhaps my cloak would shield me from the sun. Even winter’s pale orb shrouded by thick clouds would doubtless cause me great harm unless I found some better protection.
Then I noticed the trees farther on were strangely shortened. My sight was the worse for the glare, but I was just able to discern that they were not really short, but actually the top branches of trees growing upon much lower ground.
The Island was pocked here and there with depressions we called kettles because of their general shape. Rapelji said that they’d been carved out of the earth by ancient glaciers. Some were small, others much larger, with names to them. I had no name for this one, but immediately dubbed it “haven.”
I charged forward, faded somewhat, and launched my partially visible body over the edge. It was quite different from the tumble I’d taken into one as a child. The landing was much less abrupt.
The high wall of earth on my left blocked the immediate threat of light; the other wall was not all that far away. The bottom would be exposed to sun for only a short time during the day. I could improve that if I—yes, there, where the wall bulged out, creating a little alcove, but to lie as one dead with only a cloak for covering . . . . I was afraid Ash and his crew would come hunting and chance upon me while I lay helpless. After what I’d done to Drummond, they’d hack me to bits.
