by Steve Niles
How could this happen to him, on the streets of his own city? How could his friends make such a mistake, and how could perfect strangers simply believe he had made the same one and lash out like they had? Were there any sane people left in the world?
He had been walking with his head down, hands jammed into his coat pockets, more intent on the questions raging in his head than on where he was going. At about the point that he realized he didn’t know where he was, he noticed a man walking by himself on the other side of a narrow road.
“Excuse me, sir,” Dane said. “I seem to have wandered onto unfamiliar territory. Can you direct me toward Broadway?”
The man stopped and gazed across the road at Dane.
He was a singularly unpleasant looking fellow, at least as far as Dane could determine. A slouch hat shadowed some of his face, but the light that did reach him, from the gas lamps overhead, revealed a stout man with heavy jowls, narrow lips, a slightly bulbous nose. His flesh was as pale as the thin crescent of moon that floated low in the night sky. His eyes—what Dane could see of them—appeared black and lifeless.
“Broadway, hmm?” he said after regarding Dane for several seconds. “Yes, yes, I suppose I could.”
The stranger started across the road. Dane could hear him perfectly well from where he was. Some primal aspect of Dane rather preferred the man at a distance, and the closer he came, the more Dane wanted him to stay away.
One didn’t chase an elder off, though, especially when the other had offered to help. The man stopped a foot or so from Dane, pursing his lips as though thinking over a matter of some complexity. “Broadway, you said.”
“That’s right,” Dane answered, beginning to think he’d made a bad mistake asking this particular man for assistance. A strange odor wafted over him, like meat left unsalted for too long. “But I’m sure I can find it, if—”
“Nonsense,” the man interrupted. “It’s just…” He raised his left hand to point down the road, and his right as if to draw Dane nearer, taking him by the shoulder to make sure he had the correct angle of view to see something.
Politeness pulled Dane into the fellow’s partial embrace. He cringed to feel the man’s gnarled, clawlike hand on his shoulder, through his jacket. The spoiled meat aroma grew worse. “…just down here,” the man continued. “A few blocks this way, and then turn left, and…”
Dane felt the man’s hot breath on his neck. He was about to twist from the man’s grasp with a few well-chosen words when the hand on his shoulder dug in harder, fingers punching through fabric and flesh alike. Dane screamed, tried to wrench away. The man dragged him closer, his other hand catching Dane’s throat. Dane lashed out with his fists but his blows had no effect. He might as well have been hitting a tree or a wall.
Then the man used something—a claw, a hidden knife, Dane couldn’t see what—to slash Dane’s throat. As the world went dark, Dane saw blood fountain from beneath his chin and heard its liquid splash against the cobblestones.
When Dane finally came to, his eyeslids scraped as if someone had plastered them with dry sand.
He had been taken inside someplace—he saw bare stone walls and a hammered tin ceiling. He felt strange, his entire body aching and as weak as a newborn. Before Dane could even try to rise up, the man from the street loomed into his field of view. The hat was gone now and Dane saw the man’s bald head, round as a cannonball. He was no more handsome than he had been before.
“Welcome back,” the man said. “You’ll have a lot of questions, I imagine. I’ll do the best I can to answer them and to help you find your way in this new world.”
“New world…?” Dane echoed, unable to force any more than that out.
“You’ll see, soon enough,” the man said. He tried on a smile that came off as a pained grimace. “My name is Marlow. And you, my son…shall live forever.”
12
“WE NEED A BOAT.”
Mitch lurched upright on the couch, snatching up the shotgun standing beside him but knocking its stock into a table, upsetting a water glass. “Shit!” he snapped. “Is that you, Dane?”
“If it wasn’t, odds are you’d be dead already.”
“Sorry. I guess I drifted off.”
“It’s been a long few days,” Dane said. He closed the front door behind him and sat down on a fake leather chair. “No harm done, I suppose. How’s Ananu?”
Mitch shook off the sheet covering him and put the shotgun back down. Swinging around, he set his feet firmly on the ground and then leaned his elbows on his knees, cradling his forehead. “Not good, Dane. She’s sick or something. She’s been waking up and getting sick, puking all night.”
“Maybe the medicine she took.”
“That’s what she thought,” Mitch said. “I don’t know.” He straightened, catching Dane’s eye. “I had a kid once, Dane. She died a long time ago. But I’ve never forgotten what it was like when Marie was pregnant. During the first trimester, she looked just like Ana, seemed like almost every morning. Kind of green around the gills, you know?”
“So what, you think she was already pregnant? If it was that, she wouldn’t be showing symptoms this fast.”
“She said she doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything.”
“She got very upset about it back at the warehouse, saying she couldn’t afford to get pregnant, and I had the sense that she wasn’t already.”
“I could be wrong.”
“You could be. Or she might not have known. She’s asleep now?”
“Unless I woke her up when you came in.” Mitch straightened up the glass that had fallen over, which had been almost empty. “In which case she’s sitting there listening to all this, ’cause AJ’s place ain’t big enough for privacy.”
Dane rose, crossed over to the abbreviated hallway and listened outside her room. Her breathing sounded regular and deep. The strange way she smelled—the scent he had tracked across town—had intensified.
He decided not to wake her yet and returned to the chair. “What was that about a boat?” Mitch asked him.
“You know a place called Braddock Key?”
Mitch considered briefly. “Nope.”
“How about Raccoon Key? Harvey Island?”
“I think I’ve heard of them. Then again, I don’t really get offshore much.”
“I need to get to Braddock Key. I’ve been told that’s where the Headsman is. Do you know anyone who has a boat we can borrow?”
Mitch cracked a smile. “I almost hate to say it.”
“Really. AJ has a boat?”
“He’s happiest when he’s out on the water. That’s why he lives in this dump—it’s cheap and he puts most of his dough into his boat.”
“We’re going to owe him a rather large debt.”
“He’ll bitch a lot, but I think he’s kinda liking all this. Driving a cab isn’t the most exciting gig on the planet, you know? So even though we haven’t really told him what’s going on, I think he’s getting a kick out of helping us just the same.”
“I want to go out there this evening,” Dane said. It was already past 3 AM. “We can stay here during the day, get everything organized. But as soon as possible after the sun goes down I need to get out there, before anyone can warn him I’m coming.”
“You find out who the Headsman is?”
“Yes, I found out,” Dane said. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, Mitch? I’ll stand watch until morning, then you can cover while I get some rest.”
“That sounds good.” Mitch bit back a yawn and immediately put his feet up.
Dane sat in the chair while Mitch’s breathing settled into a comfortable rhythm. The crickets outside quieted as dawn approached, but their strident racket was replaced by birdcalls. Just as the gray light of morning began to show through the front window, Ananu got up and went into the bathroom. Dane listened for any sign that she was sick, but he just heard her pee and then flush the toilet. The sink ran for a minute. Another minute passed and then the door open
ed and she came into the living room. Her hair was mashed down from sleep and her eyes were hooded, as if she could use a few more hours, but she gave Dane a wan smile. The chipped tooth in front added charm and vulnerability to her appearance, he thought—without it she might come across as aloof, unapproachable.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I feel weird. My stomach is really upset. And, I don’t know, I’m a little dizzy, lightheaded.”
“Like you have the flu?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t have the muscle aches, or a fever.”
Well, that’s that then, isn’t it? Dane glanced at Mitch, who stirred but remained asleep. He beckoned Ananu toward the kitchen. The counter tiles were yellow and the walls white and a window faced east, so the lightening sky brightened the room before it reached the rest of the house.
“Are you pregnant, Ananu?”
“I don’t see how. I mean, before the other night.”
“You haven’t been with anyone recently?”
“I don’t really go out very much,” she said. “Mrs. Waylons, her health hasn’t been good. She needs me around most nights. Needed.”
“You’re certain.”
She showed him a tight-lipped smile. “When you don’t have much of a life, you keep track of what you do have.”
“You’re a very bright and attractive young woman, Ananu. I have a hard time believing you don’t get out more.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “Mrs. Waylons paid good money. I figured I could set some aside, then after a couple of years maybe go back to school, finish my education, right?”
“That makes sense to me, I guess.”
“Glad to hear you approve.”
“What I approve of has nothing to do with it. I’m just trying to figure out what the situation is.”
“The situation is that you think I’m knocked up and I’m starting to think maybe you’re right. I know I’ve never felt like this before. I just don’t get how it could happen.”
“There’s generally just the one way,” Dane said.
He hesitated. There was a variation on that way—so rare as to be almost unthinkable.
While Ananu dressed and Mitch roused and started breakfast for the two of them who hadn’t fed during the night, Dane sat in the fake leather chair and stared out the front window, the ramifications of what was happening to Ananu sinking in and taking hold.
Like the human world, the vampire world had its own myths and legends. Some of these stories were rooted in fact; others were imagined and spread because they carried some instructive lesson or moral.
Garlic, for instance—vampires were said to be afraid of garlic. The truth was that garlic tended to grow best in sunny, warm climates. By warning against garlic, vampires really meant to avoid the sun.
Another story Dane had heard involved vampires and human pregnancy.
It shouldn’t be possible. Vampires were dead, after all, and the dead didn’t procreate. Not that way. They propagated their species by turning humans, through feeding and sharing fluids but taking care not to destroy their victims. Basic copulation seemed a throwback, a return to the humanity they were so thrilled to have left behind. And why would a vampire ever choose to fraternize in that way with a lesser being?
Dane had fraternized himself, a time or two. But he didn’t necessarily share the opinion that all vampires were superior to all humans. There were jerks and assholes in both camps, and extraordinary individuals, too, if you looked hard enough.
Don’t look too hard, Dane, he thought. Extraordinary individuals like Stella Olemaun, perhaps?
Better not to think of that now.
Somehow, the old wives’ tales survived. Marlow told a couple, and just about every ancient vampire Dane had met seemed to know others. No two were precisely the same, and Dane had never bothered to track them, as an anthropologist might, to some common root. He just assumed they were all a load of crap.
The only common element all the stories shared, besides the basic setup, was the conclusion. In each of the pregnancy stories Dane had heard, however the union happened to take place, the end result was that a baby was born. Knowing that any such infant would be hopelessly tainted with human blood, the baby was beheaded at birth (or, in a few instances, staked out for the rising sun to incinerate).
So, Dane wondered, what would it mean if Bork Dela had impregnated Ananu, but then had his prize snatched away before the pregnancy could come to term?
And even if vampire-human pregnancy was impossible, when Bork Dela was involved, who knew what could happen? Dela had studied the supernatural for decades—he might well have come across arcane and forbidden secrets no one else knew.
Could he really have planted his seed in Ananu? And if so, could it already be manifesting itself? The answer to both questions would seem to be no.
But when the vampire in question was Bork Dela, it didn’t pay to be too certain of anything.
Dane would have to keep a careful eye on Ananu, just in case.
Still, for now he had to get to Braddock Key. Bork Dela had outstayed his welcome. And like it or not, for all their sakes, it looked as if it were up to Dane to deal with it.
13
AJ’s BOAT WAS a 1987 Sea Ray Weekender with Midlife Crisis painted on the stern. AJ wouldn’t loan it to them, no way, but he said he’d pilot them anywhere they needed to go.
He wasn’t anxious to stick around Savannah anyway because, he said, a couple of stiff-necked mutts in suits had called for his services, then when he had arrived, all they’d wanted to do was ask him questions about the dents in the rear of his cab and if he had been down near the waterfront the other night. He was pretty sure he’d convinced them that they were barking up the wrong tree, but just the same if he had to spend a couple of days at sea, it wouldn’t entirely be a bad thing.
Anyway, he was proud of the vessel, telling Dane and Ananu about its 255-horsepower Mercruiser engine and fiberglass/composite hull, and throwing in other details Dane wouldn’t retain for more than a few minutes. Belowdecks were a little galley with a dinette table, a head, and a V-berth with a good-sized bed. Ananu spent most of the journey there, in close proximity to the head, because between her upset stomach and the motion of the waves, she had relapsed badly.
After AJ told them about his interrogation, though, Dane wasn’t about to let anyone stay in AJ’s house for another night. If they had found his taxi, they could find his house, and he didn’t want another run-in with UV lights and automatic weapons. If he actually found Bork Dela it would be no picnic, but Dane hoped he would be easier to deal with than whoever was after them.
They boarded the boat at the Fountain Marina across the street. AJ took the wheel and guided the vessel deftly out of the marina and into the Wilmington River. To their port side they passed Whitemarsh Island, then turned hard to starboard and down the Skidaway River, between Dutch Island and Isle of Hope and Pigeon Island on their starboard side and the huge Wassaw Island on their port. Below Pigeon Island, the Skidaway merged with Moon River, then in quick succession the Burnside, the Vernon, and the Green. This would take them just north of Harvey Island, then Raccoon Key, and finally Braddock Key, according to AJ, who fished these waters whenever he could.
Mitch took control of the radio. Failing to find his favorite oldies station, he settled on classic rock. Dane sat back and felt the back-and-forth motion of the boat and listened to Neil Young singing to an old man, telling him that he was a lot like the old man was. Dane’s thoughts inevitably turned to Marlow again.
Marlow was a bastard, no question about that.
He was vicious even when he didn’t have to be. He believed the lowliest vampire to be superior to the human filth in every way, and himself to be superior to every other vampire. Perhaps Vicente and Lilith were the exception to that hierarchy, but there were times when Dane wasn’t so sure.
During his lifetime, he had been Roderick Marlow, a small-time
criminal, a thug with delusions of grandeur. Once he was turned, the first thing he did was to kill the man who had run the gang he worked for—even though at that point he couldn’t advance up the ranks, he still wanted to take revenge on the individual who had held power over him. Marlow made himself an important figure in the world of the undead, following the example set for him by the man he had so detested in life.
As a teacher, Marlow was a complete disaster.
He filled Dane’s head with a mixture of fact and fiction, leaving it up to Dane to discern—sometimes with painful consequences—between the two. When Dane asked questions that displeased him, even for reasons Dane could never fathom, Marlow was quick to administer harsh beatings in place of answers.
One of the worst of these came in 1863, during the War Between the States.
Traveling by night, living in the shadows, knowing that to be seen by armed soldiers meant almost certain destruction, they cut a swath south and east across a nation ravaged by combat. Marlow claimed his purpose was to demonstrate to Dane just how horribly people treated one another, as a means of impressing upon him that showing them any mercy was pointless, because the quick death a vampire offered was actually more merciful than allowing the humans to live out their own lives.
They wound up at Vicksburg, Mississippi, days after an extended campaign by General Grant resulted in the Confederate surrender of the city. Vicksburg and its environs had been the site of battle after battle, and the city had been shelled almost to rubble. Now, as summer’s heat settled on the region, came the aftermath, the cleanup. Mass burials took place. Church bells, at least in the places where churches still stood, tolled for hours on end.
And across the battlefields, trawling among the dead and dying, were the vampires.
Every battlefield attracted scavengers, Dane had learned. Vultures, wild dogs, rats, and other creatures were naturally drawn to the carcasses of men. Other humans crept from corpse to corpse, stealing currency, boots, and weapons.
But the vampires, desperate for easy pickings, went to the recently dead and the near dead, drinking their fill of blood. Too lazy to even bother hunting, Marlow said. Every war in human history had known them. These vampires, oversated, lolled around the battlefields and the homes of the dead until the rising of the sun made them scramble for cover. To Dane they were as worthless as mosquitoes, not deserving his sympathy or appreciation. If he had to be a vampire, he told Marlow, he at least wanted to do it in a way that demonstrated courage and dignity.
