Thirst No. 3: The Eternal Dawn

by Christopher Pike

  The dolphins swim away as I pull alongside the boat. Near midship, I surface and search for something to grab hold of, finding a portal at the waterline. Once again I relax, and catch my breath, yet I breathe softly. The last thing I want to do is alert the witch that I’ve reached the ferry. I go so far as to alter my heartbeat so it more closely resembles a normal person’s rhythm.

  Like on most ships, there are ropes hanging down from the deck, and I grab one and haul myself up. With the late hour, most people are inside the ferry. I stop to listen. The witch is waiting at the rear of the ship. She thinks I’m still in the water. I suspect the noise of the ship’s engines have thrown off her hearing. The ferry is due for an overhaul. The turbines make a loud grinding noise as we plow through the water. All these factors work to my advantage.

  I’m reluctant to get in another shooting match with the woman. I need her alive. Above all else, I can’t let her commit suicide. I suspect it’s a standard walking order when it comes to them: Under no circumstances are you to let the nasty vampire interrogate you.I don’t know why they hate me so much. What did I ever do to them?

  When I spot the woman, she’s in the middle of an operation. Using a steak knife, she’s attempting to dig out the bullet I put in her shoulder. She’s doing a piss-poor job; there’s blood all over the bench where she sits. The stuck bullet may be the reason she hasn’t healed. I have trouble healing around impaled objects. But I suspect these people, for all their gifts, are more vulnerable than me.

  A handgun rests in her lap, and her eyes don’t stray from the water. Indeed, she has a pair of binoculars, and that makes me think she drove a prearranged car to the ferry. I wonder if she has other equipment on hand, though she should have packed a medical kit. Her people probably didn’t think I’d put up such a fight.

  Listening to her heartbeat, I know she is weak from blood loss. But that doesn’t mean I underestimate her. These people are fierce. Even with her wound, she could kill a dozen humans in the blink of an eye. The fact that I want her alive adds to my difficulties.

  She’s alone, which is good, and I doubt her bench can be seen from the captain’s control room. The noise of the engines also gives me cover. But I hesitate to approach her on foot. Her ears are too sensitive for that.

  What to do?

  I reconsider putting another bullet or two in her. That will slow her down and give me a better chance of rendering her unconscious. At the same time, I don’t want her shooting back.

  I must muffle the sound of my gun. I go in search of a restroom and steal a thick roll of paper towels. I check to see if Edward’s gun is still dry, and am not surprised to find the weapon and its ammunition have weathered my long swim without problems.

  Back on deck, I climb up to a second level that circles an enclosed snack bar. There are a handful of patrons inside. They pay me no heed. I can no longer see the witch—she’s hidden by the walls of a lower lounge—but I know she’s still on the bench. For a minute I stand still, calculating the wind, our speed through the water, the shifting waves.

  Then I spring high into the air, straight up.

  On the surface my plan may appear odd, but in reality it’s simplicity itself, and probably the last thing she expects. What goes up must come down. While I’m in the air, the boat moves closer to its goal. However, I’ve timed my jump so that I’ll land on the rear deck before the boat pulls too far away. Actually, I’ve timed my leap so that I’ll land on the bench beside the woman.

  Floating through the air, I shift my cocked pistol behind my roll of paper towels. I begin to descend before I see the woman. That’s fine; I’ve timed everything perfectly. When she finally bursts into view, she doesn’t even know I’m above her, and I’m able to take my time as I aim at her right knee.

  I fire. The bullet, although silenced by the paper towels, still makes noise. It strikes its target, and the woman gasps in pain as the round shatters her kneecap. She tries to pick up her gun, and I let her. Then I shoot it out of her hand, crippling her right leg and hand in two quick strokes.

  Landing beside her, I run into a problem. The bench wood is old and worn. It caves in and I have to struggle to stay upright. In my fight to stay on my feet, my arms shake and my aim falters. The woman has three bullets in her, but she’s not ready to quit. With her left leg, she kicks both my legs out from beneath me and I fall toward the deck.

  Only by spinning in midair do I manage to avoid landing in a helpless lump. Yet, as I spin, she pulls another gun from her jacket and aims it at my head. I’m lucky her gun hand is attached to her bad shoulder and her control is poor. Before she can cock the trigger, I put a fourth bullet in her left palm. Again, her gun goes flying.

  I hit the deck. The woman stands, even with her bum knee, and kicks me in the face. The blow is impressive; it hurts. My nose breaks, and a jet of warm blood shoots from my nostrils. For a fraction of a second, my world is filled with twirling red stars and black holes, and I see her wind up for another kick. I have no choice. I shoot out her other knee. Finally she goes down, and I manage to get up.

  “Don’t move!” I shout as she lies facedown on the deck. This isn’t exactly what I planned. If she has a suicide tooth in her mouth, she can use it now, and I won’t be able to stop her. Yet this woman acts like someone who wants to live. Sort of.

  “Shoot me and get it over with,” she mutters.

  “What’s the fun in that?” Kneeling beside her, I yank both her arms back and snap the handcuffs in place. She tries to rise, and I grab her by her dark brown hair and smash her face in the deck. I apply the other set of cuffs to her ankles. If I can’t break them, she can’t. Pulling her upright, I set her on the end of the bench that’s still intact. I rip off her weird watch and throw it overboard. Both our noses drip ridiculous amounts of blood.

  “Are you in pain?” I ask.

  She sneers. “What do you care?”

  “Well, I don’t care all that much. But if you’re hurting, and you have medicine aboard, I’ll give you some.”

  “We don’t carry medicine to reduce pain.”

  “Too bad, you’ve got five bullets in you. It’s going to hurt to dig them out.” I frisk her as I speak and find another gun, a knife, and a stun grenade. These toys I decide to keep. She also has an assortment of canisters that resemble tiny spray cans. They’re different colors, but otherwise they’re unlabeled. “I assume one of these causes instant and agonizing death?” I ask.

  “Why are you talking? Shoot me.”

  “I have no reason to kill you.”

  She glares at me but trembles with her pain and perhaps fear.

  “You’ll get nothing out of me,” she swears.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  This is no place to banter. We’ll be spotted soon. I have to get her below. Not all the people who boarded the ferry were on foot. The lower deck is loaded with cars, which approximately half the passengers are taking to France. My best bet is to find a suitable vehicle and stow the woman in the trunk and drive it off the boat. Border control between France and Britain is not a concern. The flow of traffic between the countries is pretty open. If I do get stopped at a checkpoint, I can always smile and bat my eyelashes.

  Of course, my secret passenger must remain silent.

  Reaching out, I grasp the two main arteries and veins in her neck and squeeze.

  She loses consciousness almost immediately.

  I get to work.

  SIXTEEN

  When I get to France, I immediately turn around and drive under the Channel, back to England. As a result, dawn finds me in London, in a poor section of town, where it’s possible to rent a motel room and carry in a body and nobody asks any questions.

  The van I stole to transport the woman belongs to an electrician. I’m lucky—it has several long rolls of electrical wire, in all gauges, in the back. The wire allows me to tie the woman to the bed. I wrap her up so thoroughly she looks like a generator waiting to be plugged in. The van also has tool
s I use to construct a wicked shocking device. I’m not a fan of torture, but I’m less a fan of dying, and these people are trying to kill me.

  In France—before driving back to England—I dug out her bullets and her suicide tooth. I even sewed up a couple of her torn arteries in the rear of the van. Yet she’s still bleeding as I tie her to the motel bed. She’s in pain, moaning beneath the cloth I have taped over her mouth. I pull off the rag once we’re settled and sit beside her on the bed.

  “I won’t gag you if you promise not to cry out,” I say.

  She nods weakly. “Thirsty.”

  The motel, despite its wretched exterior, has a well-stocked minibar. I hold a bottle of Evian water to her lips, and she gulps hungrily. I pull it away.

  “Sip it slowly. You’ll throw up.”

  She nods and slowly drinks the entire bottle.

  “Would you like some more?” I ask as I toss the bottle in the garbage.

  “I’m fine.” She coughs. “Relatively speaking.”

  “So you have a sense of humor, good. I was beginning to wonder about you people.”

  “You know nothing about us,” she says bitterly.

  “That’s why we’re here, to get acquainted.”

  “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “No?”

  “You’re interested in only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why do you play these games?”

  “This isn’t a game. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Blood.”

  I smile. “You’re joking. Who told you that?”

  “You deny that you’re a vampire?”

  “No. It’s not something I go around advertising, but I’m not a bloodsucker. In the last fifteen years, I’ve seldom drunk human blood.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m aware of your mental abilities. I possess similar powers. But I can’t read your mind, and you can’t read mine. At the same time, I sense you know the truth when it’s spoken aloud. So listen to me. I almost never drink human blood. I don’t hunt people and drain away their blood and leave them to die. Now am I speaking the truth or not?”

  She hesitates. “We know your history. We know you’re evil.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “What do you care?”

  “My name is Alisa. I—”

  “That’s not your real name,” she interrupts.

  “What’s my real name?”

  “Sita. Bloody Sita.”

  “I’m impressed. You do know something of my past. Who told you my name?”

  “If I tell you, I’ll be executed.”

  “Come on, I won’t tell anybody.”

  “No.”

  “You can tell your pals I tortured the information out of you.”

  “They wouldn’t care.”

  “Well, then, maybe I will have to torture you.”

  Her eyes widen. “You would enjoy that.”

  “It gives me no pleasure to hurt someone.”

  “I’ve seen you in action. You’re a killing machine.”

  “Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. You and your partners came to kill me. I was just defending myself.”

  “You’re faster than us, stronger. You could have fled if you were only interested in protecting yourself.”

  “Bullshit. If I didn’t set an example that I’m not to be fooled with, your people would never leave me alone.”

  “What kind of example are you going to make of me?”

  “Answer a few questions and I’ll call your people right now and tell them the address of this motel. They can pick you up and take you to their own private hospital.”

  She looks away. “We don’t have hospitals.”

  “Because you’re strong. You don’t age.”

  “You may as well start the torture. I’m not going to answer your questions.”

  “Stop it! I don’t want to torture you!”

  “You are torturing me! My knees are shattered. My hands are broken! I can’t stop bleeding. What else can you do to me?”

  I soften my tone. “I know you’re in pain, I can feel it. I can go to a hospital or pharmacy and get you bandages and medicine and clean up your wounds and remove the pain.”

  “If—”

  “If you tell me your name.”

  She stares at me. “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Numbria.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  “You don’t know what it means.”

  “But I do. It’s not mentioned in any history books, but it’s the name of the younger sister of the Goddess Isis. The mantra ‘Om Numbria’ used to be considered one of the most powerful chants on earth.”

  She’s stunned. “How do you know this?”

  “A friend of mine taught me the mantra. I used to chant it.”

  “You worship the Goddess?”

  “Sort of. When I was young, I met Krishna. He touched me deeply. He told me that when a person worships him, they worship all forms of God. He said the form doesn’t matter. Only the love matters.”

  She appears genuinely curious. “How does it matter?”

  “He said worship cultures the human heart. That’s why being a parent is the highest calling a human being can have. Krishna believed most parents worship their children.”

  “Huh! Most parents are cruel.”

  “Were your parents cruel to you, Numbria?”

  She turns away. “I won’t speak of them.”

  I squeeze her arm gently. “Do you want the medicine or not?”

  Numbria casts me a weary glance. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Thank you.” I stand from the bed. “On the drive here, I saw a clinic three blocks over. I can get you what you need there. I’ll leave you ungagged if you promise to stay quiet. But if you call for help, I’ll hear you and be back before anyone else can arrive. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I turn toward the door. “I won’t be long.”

  It’s true I prefer to get the information I need without resorting to torture. I don’t mind playing doctor to Numbria. But I have another motive in seeking out drugs. Sodium Pentothal is an established truth serum. From experience, I’ve found it to be effective. Yet I know if morphine and a small amount of dilaudid are added, the combination is much more potent, especially if the subject in question is in pain.

  I have no trouble obtaining what I wish at the clinic. I accidentally bump into a young doctor in the hallway and work my magic on him, and a few minutes later he sends me out the door with a bag full of goodies. All free of charge. You have to love the British and their universal health care system.

  However, a disturbing feeling sweeps over me as I prepare to leave the clinic. It’s so strong it’s close to a physical sensation. I feel like I’m being watched. Not by one set of eyes, either, but by a multitude. I remain still a long time, trying to get a fix on the source, to no avail.

  I call Seymour on the cell phone I stole from the doctor. He’s upset I didn’t call earlier, but I apologize and we get down to business.

  “How are Teri and Matt doing?” I ask.

  “You mean, how do they feel about last night?”

  “Yeah. Did they see anything?”

  “They didn’t see you. You lucked out in that respect. But there was gossip at the president’s hotel about some superchick with blond hair who killed a dozen people. They both saw blood on the floor, and Matt kept asking where you were.”

  “Why?”

  “Like you said, the guy’s got an antenna. Maybe he’s worried you were the superchick.”

  “They don’t even know I was at that hotel.”

  “I guess.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you were tired and went to bed.”

  “Did Teri get to meet the president?”

  “No. His secret service was too spooked to t
hrow another party.”

  “A pity.”

  “I take it you killed the four?”

  “I killed three of them. I’ve taken one of them captive.”

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  “Her. I’m going to interrogate her.”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her to talk.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “If I don’t figure out a way to stop them now, I’ll never have peace. The rest of you could be in danger as well.”

  “More reason to make me into a vampire.”

  “More reason not to. Numbria has already admitted she knows what I am.”

  “Who told her?”

  “That’s what I have to find out. It’s going to be a long day.”

  “The longer you’re gone, the more suspicious it will look to Matt and Teri.”

  “What are they doing now?”

  “Sleeping. It’s still early and they went to bed late. Tell me where you are.”

  I give him the name and address of the motel. “Don’t come here unless I call for you,” I warn him.

  “Fine. As long as you answer when I call.”

  “Agreed. Is the secret service searching for me?”

  “I don’t think so. I know they haven’t linked you to Teri. They haven’t questioned her.”

  “A secret service agent named Mike saw me kill the three and still let me go.”

  “Did you cast a spell on him?”

  “No. He seemed to grasp that the people I killed weren’t normal. And that I should be left alone to deal with the rest of them.”

  “That’s a hell of an insight on his part.”

  “I think Mike’s what people call an old soul. You run into them if you live long enough. He has a rare form of intuition. He won’t report me.”

  “You meet the strangest people.”

  “I hooked up with Teri so I could have some normal friends.”

  “Then juiced her up with vampire blood and pushed her into the Olympic limelight, where she shattered a world record.”

  “Are you saying it’s my fault they came after me last night?”