The dogs had been waiting for someone to run outside. He saw more dogs out there, hunched over people in blue medical uniforms.
Then Junior saw the man in black, the one from the cave. The guy strolled across the parking lot, toward the building. Dogs flanked him, like servants accompanying a king.
No one who ran out there would escape, period.
Drenched with water that continued to pour from the showers, Junior scrambled past the abandoned front desk in the lobby. There was another, shorter hallway behind the desk. At the end of the hall, he saw an Exit sign above a door, the blood-red letters glowing in the gloom.
The vampires' shrieks reverberated in the corridors. They weren't far behind.
He reached the exit, whammed open the door with his shoulder, and found himself in a pitch-black stairwell. He thumbed the Bic lighter and held it high, like a torch. It didn't give him much light, but he saw the door at the bottom of the dozen or so stairs.
Keeping the lighter held high, and clutching the bottle bomb in his other hand, he navigated down the steps. His knees trembled so badly he was certain that he would fall and roll down the stairs, maybe breaking his neck in the tumble. But he made it to the bottom without stumbling.
He pushed the door open.
A duo of slavering pit bulls awaited him in the alley. They rose from their haunches and came after him, snarling, foam spraying from their lips.
Frantic, Junior stepped inside and pulled the door shut.
The dogs scraped against the door, growling.
Junior leaned against the wall. His heart pounded so hard that the hammering seemed to transmit itself to the bricks behind him, making the walls throb in unison with his heart.
He wanted to find another way to escape, but he wondered if it would be worth the try. It was like these vampires had thought of all the ways to get out. Even if he jumped out a window, they would probably be waiting for him on the ground below.
At the top of the stairs, the door swished open.
Junior stood rigid.
Featherlight footsteps came inside the stairwell. Then the door was shut, closing out the chaotic sounds of the besieged hospital.
Junior held his breath. He would have to peek around the corner to see who was up there. But in his heart, he knew who it was.
"I can smell you down there, Junior," Vicky Queen said. "You've got that nice, manly scent that I've always liked."
Her sultry voice somehow managed to frighten and excite him at the same time.
Vicky's bare feet began to tap down the stairs.
"I know you've never been with a woman," she said. "I want to be your first, honey. You've waited so long, been holding out for that special woman. That special woman's me, Junior."
Tears pushed down Junior's cheeks. Sniffling, he flicked on the cigarette lighter again, held it aloft.
Vicky came around the corner, into the light. Her face was both beautiful and terrifying to Junior, both alien and painfully familiar.
"I want to give myself to you, after all these years," she said. "I want you to give yourself to me, too. We'll spend the rest of our lives together. We'll never die. Don't you want that for us, sweetie?"
She stepped closer.
Shaking his head, his face wet with tears, Junior raised the bottle bomb.
Please, Lord, please, Mama, forgive me for doing this.
Rage twisted Vicky's face. "Junior, you put that thing away, you hear me? You put it away right now!"
"I always loved you, Miss Queen," Junior said. "Please forgive me"
He lit the fuse. Vicky screeched. Junior rushed toward her and embraced her. The bomb exploded in a brilliant orb of flames, taking them away together.
Jackson caught Hunter as everyone was rushing out of the station to go to the hospital.
"Hunter, I can't go to the hospital with y'all," he said.
David's eyes were understanding. "It's Jahlil, isn't it?"
"I got to find him." He knotted his hands. "Damn boy, always been so headstrong. I know he thinks he's gonna be out there in the streets hunting these suckers. I can't let him be running around out there alone. I'm the police chief, but I'm a daddy first"
"I understand," David said. "Be careful."
"You do the same. When I find my boy, we're gonna come to support you. That's a promise."
They shook hands. A jarring thought struck Jackson-the idea that he was never going to see David again. Whether it was because David was going to die-or he was going to die-he did not know. He didn't voice his thought, fearful that speaking it would guarantee that it would come true.
David left. Jackson looked around the office. Now, only a single candle glowed, leaving most of the room in shadow, but Jackson had spent so much time there over the years that he didn't need any light at all. This place had become more like his home than his own house. He'd been notified of major events in his life while sitting right over there at his desk. His wife going into labor with their son. Jahlil's first shaky steps. His father's death. His wife contracting cancer ...
There was a lifetime of memories here, both good and bad.
He blew out the candle. Then he left to find his son.
Jahlil was not about to go into battle against the bloodsuckers without some kind of bomb. When he and Poke discovered that the gas can in the garage was empty, they returned inside the house and went into the kitchen.
He found plenty of flammable stuff inside the cupboards. While Poke shone the flashlight over him, he filled several beer bottles with the dangerous liquids, packed strips of towels into the bottle necks, as wicks, and secured the fuses with wire trash-bag ties.
Rumbles of thunder clinked the plates in the dish rack. An angry wind swatted the window.
"That storm is kicking ass," Poke said. "Where we going when we leave here?"
"We're gonna cruise around town," Jahlil said. "I know there's gonna be shit popping everywhere. I can feel it. Can't you?"
Poke wiped sweat from his face with his forearm. "Yeah. That's why I'm about to piss on myself. I should've gotten the fuck out of Dodge when I had the chance. Carloads of niggas broke out after that meeting at the church. It was like a caravan going to a big-ass family reunion."
"Cowards," Jahlil said. He packed a towel into the last bottle. "How're you gonna give up your crib and everything you have, just like that? My family's been here forever, man. I ain't giving up my shit without a fight-"
"Hey, you hear that?" Poke whispered.
Jahlil listened. He detected a sound, underneath the groaning thunder. It grew louder with each beat of his heart.
"Music," Jahlil said.
"Not just any music," Poke said. "That's Jacktown. I ain't gotta tell you who's always bumpin' their shit."
No, you sure don't, Jahlil thought. His mouth was dry. He pushed a bottle toward Poke. Poke grasped it as if for dear life.
Jahlil picked up his shotgun off the dinette table.
The music, heavy with bass, made the living room windows pulsate. Car headlights burned on the curtains.
"Follow me," Jahlil said.
He went into the living room, Poke moving close behind him. Their bodies cast huge, jerky shadows on the walls.
At the front door, Jahlil lifted the edge of the drape that covered the small rectangular window.
A blue Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight was parked across the lawn, headlamps angled toward the living room. The car's tinted windows prevented Jahlil from seeing who was inside-as if there were any doubt.
"It's T-Bone's ride," Jahlil said. After T-Bone disappeared the other night, his mother had come by Jahlil's place to pick up the car. Looked like T-Bone had gotten it back.
"Fuck," Poke said softly. "He's coming for us, man. He's coming to make us one of them vampire bastards"
The bass line of T-Bone's favorite Jacktown song, "Foot on Ya Neck," began to boom from the car stereo.
In his mind's eye, Jahlil imagined T-Bone leaning in the driver's seat, a joint danglin
g from his fang-filled mouth, eyes red and frenzied, nodding his head to the funky rhythm.
Jahlil bit his tongue to hold back an outburst of lunatic laughter.
"What we gonna do, J?" Poke asked.
Jahlil leaned against the wall. Before, he was going to laugh. Now, he felt nauseated.
"We're going to go out there to get him," Jahlil said.
"Fuck that, you crazy nigga-"
"Either we go out there to get him, or he's coming in here to get us," Jahlil said. "He'll be expecting us to run and hide. We've gotta make the first move"
"Shit" Poke spat on the floor. Ordinarily, Jahlil would've busted him out for spitting on the carpet, but this was no time for pettiness. "All right, cool. You go first"
"We're going out there together. I'll lead."
"Damn. I'm gonna kick your ass when this is all over. I'm tired of you putting me through all this shit."
"Poke, we get through this, and I'll be glad to let you borrow my cleats so you can kick my ass with them," Jahlil said. "Are you ready? Remember our plan. I'm the shooter, you're the bomber."
"Man, I don't know if I can take out our boy." Poke gripped the beer bottle, but his eyes were wet.
"He's not our boy anymore. He's a monster. He'll rip out our throats if you give him the chance. We have to move on him."
"All right, all right." Poke closed his eyes, as if speaking a quick prayer. Then he nodded. "I'm ready."
Giving pep talks to Poke had the side benefit of quieting Jahlil's own anxiety. If Poke had not been there for him to motivate and direct, he would've had a hell of a time dealing with this stuff. Acting as the brave leader for his boy helped him feel kind of fearless.
Although he wasn't completely without fear. Before putting his hand on the doorknob, he murmured a short prayer of his own.
Holding the shotgun in one hand, barrel aimed at the ceiling, he opened the door. He pressed the latch on the screen door.
Cold wind smacked him in the face and snatched open the screen door.
In the car, Jacktown's song played on.
The porch was clear. Jahlil moved across it, stepped down the concrete steps. Poke was close on his heels.
"Let's check out the car," Jahlil said.
"Okay, I'll cover you from back here," Poke said.
Jahlil wanted Poke to stick with him, but it was obvious that just getting Poke to come outside had pushed his friend to the limits of his courage. Jahlil decided to let it ride.
Jahlil crept across the grass, closer to the Oldsmobile.
The music's earthquake-bass pounded in his bones.
Don't vampires have supersensitive ears? Jahlil wondered. If so, how in the hell can T-Bone stand this music?
He grasped the handle of the passenger-side door. Pulled.
The door opened with a creak, releasing the mingled odors of marijuana, stale beer, and funk.
The car was empty.
"Is he in there?" Poke said.
Jahlil turned to respond-and that was when he saw the shadowy shape on the roof of the house. The figure crouched, muscles bunched, as though ready to leap.
"Run, Poke!" Jahlil said.
But as the words flew out of his mouth, the creature was already bouncing off the roof, as if catapulted into the air by a trampoline. It swooped to the ground and landed behind Poke, and by the time Poke heard Jahlil's warning and started to dash, the vampire had already twisted its arm around his neck.
Poke let out a strangled scream.
The vampire had used to be T-Bone, but it bore little resemblance to the kid Jahlil remembered. Its braided hair was messy and full of dirt. Dried mud was caked on its face, like war paint. Its eyes were bloodshot. Saliva dribbled from its lips, and glistening snot trailed from its nostrils.
A big, fake platinum cross dangled from the vampire's neck, the same necklace T-Bone wore all the time.
Jahlil's testicles felt as though they'd retracted inside his pelvis.
He had been out of his mind for leaving the police station to hunt these things. This was ten times worse than the vampiric mutts.
"Get it off me, get it off me!" Poke said in a garbled voice.
Jahlil raised the shotgun.
But the vampire and Poke were so close together that he didn't feel confident about blasting the vamp without hurting Poke.
"Let go of him, T-Bone!" Jahlil warned. "Or I'm going to nail you"
The vampire snorted. It jerked Poke higher in the air, lifting him up by his neck. T-Bone was several inches taller than Poke, and the height advantage allowed him to punish Poke with an excruciating stranglehold.
"Go ahead and shoot, you punk ass nigga," T-Bone said, in a coarse voice that sounded nothing like the kid that Jahlil remembered. "You ain't about shit."
Jahlil's finger tightened on the trigger.
Poke's feet kicked in the air, feebly. He was screaming, but due to the choke hold, it came out as a high-pitched whine. The veins in his neck looked ready to burst.
"Last warning, let him go!" Jahlil said. He steadied his aim on the bloodsucker's head.
I've got to drop him now, he thought. Pull the trigger, man.
Glowering at Jahlil defiantly, the vampire opened its mouth. Ropes of saliva coated its fangs, like grotesque taffy.
Shoot him.
Swift as a snake, the vampire buried its teeth into Poke's neck.
Jahlil finally squeezed the trigger, the gun's hard recoil snapping through his arms.
The bullet cleaved across the top of the beast's skull, tearing away a chunk of scalp and hair. The vampire screeched. Its arm loosened from around Poke's throat. Poke slumped to the grass like a bundle of clothes.
But the vampire, though wounded, was not dead. It charged Jahlil, teeth bared, hissing.
Frantic, Jahlil pumped the shotgun for another shot-and it got stuck.
Shit!
He heard his dad's voice in his mind, admonishing him to oil and clean his firearms regularly, to maintain their effectiveness. Now, son, got to take care of your guns. Take care of your guns, and they'll take care of you.
The vampire ripped the shotgun out of his hands.
Jahlil spun, and, without thinking, dove into the open passenger side of the Oldsmobile. He slammed the door and mashed down the lock with his fist. Found the automatic lock and hit it, too, engaging the locks on all four doors.
The thunderous music made his teeth rattle.
The bloodsucker hopped onto the hood of the car, the metal creaking under its weight. It planted itself there on its knees, drew back its fist, and punched the windshield.
Jahlil screamed and covered his eyes.
Glass shattered, fragments spraying over his head.
The vampire shoved its long arm through the jagged rupture in the window. It seized the front of Jahlil's shirt.
Jahlil could not help thinking that the monster's dirtsmudged nails looked exactly like T-Bone's after a long day of basketball.
He wrapped his hands around the vampire's wrist, trying to break its grip on him, but it was like trying to loosen a steel vise.
The monster pushed its hand forward and closed its long fingers around Jahlil's throat.
Jahlil gagged. The thing's fingers were so chilly they might have been formed of ice.
I'm dead, this is it. He's gonna yank me out the window and suck me dry.
Like a powerful robotic arm, the vampire began to draw Jahlil forward. His body was too wide to fit through the hole, but he doubted that would stop the creature from forcing him through, scraped and bleeding.
As he was lifted forward, his chest pressed against the steering wheel, activating the horn. It blared a futile warning to the uncaring night.
Stars swarmed at the edges of Jahlil's vision. He couldn't breathe. He was blacking out ...
A whoomp filled Jahlil's eardrums. Then, a howl of pain.
The vampire let go of him.
Jahlil dropped against the seat, dizzy. But he saw the vampire: it was on
fire. It snatched its hand out of the window and leapt off the car, screaming, covered in flames.
Jahlil tried to open the door, remembered that it was locked, popped up the lock, and rolled out of the Oldsmobile. Bent over, he sucked in lungfuls of sweet air.
The burning vampire stumbled to the edge of the yard, and collapsed on the ground. The stench of torched flesh poisoned the air.
Jahlil staggered to where Poke sat on the grass, near the porch.
"I got that motherfucker," Poke said. The cigarette lighter lay in his hand. He blinked, sleepily. "You was right, he wasn't nothing like our boy no more. He was a fucking monster, man"
Gently, Jahlil turned Poke's head. A bite wound burned bright red on Poke's neck, like marks seared with a branding iron.
Soon, Poke would be one of them.
Across the yard, the vampire lay still, gray-black smoke twisting from its corpse and rising into the stormy night sky.
Taking in the loss of both his lifelong friends, Jahlil could do only one thing.
He lowered his head, and cried.
Although his fellow patients were in a haste to leave the premises, Franklin had the presence of mind to understand that he did not want to venture outdoors in this ridiculous gown. He opened the closet and found his regular clothes. He was grateful to find his favorite pair of khakis, and a shirt.
He closed the door, shutting out the commotion in the hallway. His female roommate had departed with the rest of the mob.
As he dressed, he admired the still, peaceful body of his wife. He had placed her on the bed after he had satiated himself on her blood.
Yes, blood. Finally, he could admit the object of his hunger. He felt no shame about his craving, not anymore. The pleasure that blood provided was too sweet, too nourishing, too fulfilling, to ever engender unwelcome feelings. Easier to despise a thirst for water.
He was aware of what he had become. He had metamorphosed into the blood-crazed monster that David (and himself, in his prior life) feared and conspired to destroy. The vampire!
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