by Darren Shan
The wolf-man had torn Sam's stomach open and eaten a lot of his insides. Amazingly, Sam was still alive when I got to him. His eyelids were fluttering, and he was breathing lightly.
"Sam, are you okay?" I whispered. It was a stupid question, but the only one my trembling lips could form. "Sam?" I brushed his forehead with my fingers, but he showed no signs of hearing or feeling me. He just lay there, with his eyes staring up at me.
Mr. Crepsley knelt down beside me and checked Sam's body.
"Can you save him?" I cried. He shook his head slowly. "You have to!" I shouted. "You can close the wounds. We can call a doctor. You can give him a potion. There must be some way to —"
"Darren," he said softly, "there is nothing we can do. He is dying. The damage is too great. Another couple of minutes and …" He sighed. "At least he is beyond feeling. There will be no pain."
"No!" I screamed, and threw myself onto Sam. I was crying bitterly, sobbing so hard it hurt.
"Sam! You can't die! Sam! Stay alive! You can join the Cirque and travel with us all over the world. You can … you …"
I could say no more, only lower my head, cling to Sam, and let the tears pour down my face.
In the deserted old railroad yard, the wolf-man lay unconscious behind me. Mr. Crepsley sat silently by my side. Underneath me, Sam Grest — who'd been my friend and saved my life — lay perfectly still and slipped further and further into the final sleep of an unfair and horrible death.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
After a while, I felt somebody tugging at the sleeve of my left arm. I looked around. Mr. Crepsley was standing over me, looking miserable.
"Darren," he said, "it will not seem like the right time, but there is something you must do. For Sam's sake. And your own."
"What are you talking about?" I wiped some of the tears from my face and stared up at him. "Can we save him? Tell me if we can. I'll do anything."
"There is nothing we can do to save his body," Mr. Crepsley told me. "He is dying and nothing can change that. But there is something we can do for his spirit.
"Darren," he said, "you must drink Sam's blood."
I went on staring at him, but now it was a stare of disbelief, not hope.
"How could you?" I whispered with disgust. "One of my best friends is dying, and all you can think about … You're sick! You're a sick, twisted monster. You should be dying, not Sam. I hate you. Get out of here."
"You do not understand," he said.
"Yes I do!" I screamed. "Sam's dying, but all you're worried about is blooding me. Do you know what you are? You're a no-good —"
"Do you remember our discussion about vampires being able to absorb part of a person's spirit?" he asked.
I was just about to call him something awful, but his question confused me.
"What's that got to do with this?" I asked.
"Darren, this is important. Do you remember?"
"Yes," I said softly. "What about it?"
"Sam is dying," Mr. Crepsley said. "A few more minutes and he will be gone. Forever. But you can keep part of him alive within you if you drink from him now and take this life before the wounds of the wolf-man can."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You want me to kill Sam?" I screamed.
"No," he sighed. "Sam has already been killed. But if you finish him off before he dies from the bites of the wolf-man, you will save some of his memories and feelings. In you he can live on."
I shook my head. "I can't drink his blood," I whispered. "Not Sam's." I glanced down at the small, savaged body. "I can't."
Mr. Crepsley sighed. "I will not force you to," he said. "But think carefully about it. What happened tonight is a tragedy that will haunt you for a very long time, but if you drink from Sam and absorb part of his essence, dealing with his death will be easier. Losing a loved one is hard. This way, you need not lose all of him."
"I can't drink from him," I sobbed. "He was my friend."
"It is because he was your friend that you must," Mr. Crepsley said, then turned away and left me to decide.
I stared down at Sam. He looked so lifeless, like he'd already lost everything that made him human, alive, unique. I thought of his jokes and long words and hopes and dreams, and how awful it would be if all of that just disappeared with his death.
Kneeling, I placed the fingers of my left hand on Sam's red neck. "I'm sorry, Sam," I moaned, then dug my sharp nails into his soft flesh, leaned forward, and stuck my mouth over the holes they'd made.
Blood gushed in and made me gag. I nearly fell away, but with an effort I held my place and gulped it down. His blood was hot and salty and ran down my throat like thick, creamy butter.
Sam's pulse slowed as I drank, then stopped. But I went on drinking, swallowing every last drop, absorbing.
When I'd finally sucked him dry, I turned away and howled at the sky like the wolf-man had. For a long time that's all I could do, howl and scream and cry like the wild animal of the night that I'd become.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mr. tall and a bunch of others from the Cirque Du Freak — including four Little People — arrived a little later. I was sitting by Sam's side, too tired to howl anymore, staring blankly into space, feeling his blood settle in my stomach.
"What's the story?" Mr. Tall asked Mr. Crepsley. "How did the wolf-man get free?"
"I do not know, Hibernius," Mr. Crepsley replied. "I have not asked and do not intend to, not for a night or two at least. Darren is in no shape for an interrogation."
"Is the wolf-man dead?" Mr. Tall asked.
"No," Mr. Crepsley said. "I merely knocked him out."
"Thank heaven for small mercies." Mr. Tall sighed. He clicked his fingers and the Little People chained up the unconscious wolf-man. A van from the show pulled up and they bundled him into the back.
I thought about demanding the wolf-man's death, but what good would it have been? He wasn't evil, just naturally mad. Killing him would have been pointless and cruel.
When they'd finished with the wolf-man, the Little People's attention turned to Sam's shredded remains.
"Hold on," I said, as they bent to pick him up and cart him away. "What are they going to do with Sam?"
Mr. Tall coughed uncomfortably. "I, ah, imagine they intend to dispose of him," he said.
It took me a moment to realize what that meant. "They're going to eat him?" I shrieked.
"We can't just leave him here," Mr. Tall reasoned, "and we don't have time to bury him. This is the easiest —"
"No," I said firmly.
"Darren," Mr. Crepsley said, "we should not interfere with —"
"No!" I shouted, striding over to shove the Little People backward. "If they want to eat Sam, they'll have to eat me first!"
The Little People stared at me wordlessly, with hungry green eyes.
"I think they'd be quite happy to accommodate you," Mr. Tall said drily.
"I mean it," I growled. "I won't let them eat Sam. He deserves a proper burial."
"So that worms can devour him?" Mr. Tall asked, then sighed when I glared at him, and shook his head irritably.
"Let the boy have his way, Hibernius," Mr. Crepsley said quietly. "You may return to the Cirque with the others. I will stay and help dig the grave."
"Very well." Mr. Tall shrugged. He whistled and pointed a finger at the Little People. They hesitated, then backed away and crowded around the owner of the Cirque Du Freak, leaving me alone with the dead Sam Grest.
Mr. Tall and his assistants left. Mr. Crepsley sat down beside me.
"How are you?" he asked.
I shook my head. There was no simple answer to that.
"Do you feel stronger?"
"Yes," I said softly. Even though it hadn't been long since I'd drank Sam's blood, already I noticed a difference. My eyesight had improved and so had my hearing, and my battered body didn't hurt nearly as much as it should.
"You will not have to drink again for a long time," he sa
id.
"I don't care. I didn't do it for me. I did it for Sam."
"Are you angry with me?" he asked.
"No," I said slowly.
"Darren," he said, "I hope —"
"I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped. "I'm cold, sore, miserable, and lonely. I want to think about Sam, not waste words on you."
"As you wish," he said, and began digging in the soil with his fingers. I dug beside him in silence for a few minutes, then paused and looked over.
"I'm a real vampire's assistant now, aren't I?" I asked.
He nodded sadly. "Yes. You are."
"Does that make you glad?"
"No," he said. "It makes me feel ashamed."
As I stared at him, confused, a figure appeared above us. It was the Little Person with the limp. "If you think you're taking Sam …" I warned him, raising a dirt-encrusted hand. Before I got any further, he jumped into the shallow hole, stuck his wide, gray-skinned fingers into the soil, and clawed up large clumps.
"He's helping us?" I asked, puzzled.
"It seems like it," Mr. Crepsley said, and laid a hand on my back. "Rest," he advised. "We can dig faster by ourselves. I will call you when it is time to bury your friend."
I nodded, crawled out, and lay down on the bank beside the quickly forming grave. After a while I shuffled out of the way and sat, waiting, in the shadows of the old railroad station. Just me and my thoughts. And Sam's dark, red blood on my lips and between my teeth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
We buried Sam without much talk — I couldn't think of anything to say — and filled in the grave. We didn't hide it, so he'd be discovered by the police and given a real burial soon. I wanted his parents to be able to give him a ceremony, but this would keep him safe from scavenging animals (and Little People) in the meantime.
We broke camp before dawn. Mr. Tall told everybody there was a long trek ahead. Sam's disappearance would create a fuss, so we had to get as far away as possible.
I wondered, as we left, what had become of R.V. Did he bleed to death in the forest? Did he make it to a doctor in time? Or was he still running and screaming, "My hands! My hands!"?
I didn't care. Although he'd been trying to do the right thing, this was R.V.'s fault. If he hadn't gone messing with the locks on the wolf-man's cage, Sam would be alive. I didn't hope R.V. was dead, but I didn't say a prayer for him, either. I'd leave him to fate and whatever it had in store.
Evra sat beside me at the rear of the van as the Cirque pulled out. He started to say something. Stopped. Cleared his throat. Then he put a bag on my lap. "I found that," he muttered. "Thought you might want it."
Through stinging eyes I read the name — "Sam Grest" — then burst into tears and cried bitterly over it. Evra put his arms around me and held me tight and cried along with me.
"Mr. Crepsley told me what happened," Evra mumbled eventually, recovering slightly and wiping his face clean. "He said you drank Sam's blood to keep his spirit alive."
"Apparently," I replied weakly, unconvinced.
"Look," Evra said, "I know how much you didn't want to drink human blood, but you did this for Sam. It was an act of goodness, not evil. You shouldn't feel bad for drinking from him."
"I guess," I said, then moaned at the memory and cried some more.
The day went by and the Cirque Du Freak rolled on, but thoughts of Sam couldn't be left behind. As night came, we pulled over to the side of the road for a short break. Evra went to look for food and drinks.
"Do you want anything?" he asked.
"No," I said, my face pressed against the window-pane. "I'm not hungry."
He started to leave.
I called him back. "Wait a sec."
There was a strange taste in my mouth. Sam's blood was still hot on my lips, salty and terrible, but that wasn't what had started the buds at the back of my tongue tingling. There was something I wanted that I'd never wanted before. For a few confusing seconds I didn't know what it was. Then I identified the strange craving and managed to crack the thinnest of smiles. I searched Sam's bag, but the jar must have been left behind when we left.
Looking up at Evra, I wiped tears from my eyes, licked my lips, and asked in a voice that sounded a lot like that smart-ass kid I once knew, "Do we have any pickled onions?"
TO BE CONTINUED …
TO SAVE A LIFE, DARREN SHAN MUST RISK HIS OWN BY FACING A CREATURE OF EVIL IN THE
TUNNELS OF BLOOD
Dare to read on …
PROLOGUE
The smell of blood is sickening. Hundreds of carcasses hang from silver hooks, stiff, shiny with frosty blood. I know they're just animals — cows, pigs, sheep — but I keep thinking they're human.
I take a careful step forward. Powerful overhead lights mean it's bright as day. I have to tread carefully. I tide behind the dead animals. Move slowly. The floor's slippery with water and blood, which makes progress even trickier.
Ahead, I spot him … the vampire … Mr. Crepsley. He's moving as quietly as I am, eyes focused on the far man a little way ahead.
The fat man. He's why I'm here in this ice-cold slaughterhouse. He's the human Mr. Crepsley intends to kill. He's the man I have to save.
The fat man pauses and checks one of the hanging slabs of meat. His cheeks are chubby and red. He's wearing clear plastic gloves. He pats the dead animal — the squeaky noise of the hook as the carcass swings puts my teeth on edge — then begins whistling. He starts to walk again. Mr. Crepsley follows. So do I.
Evra is somewhere far behind. I left him outside. No point in both of us risking our lives.
I pick up speed, moving slowly closer. Neither knows I'm here. If everything works out as planned, they won't know, not until Mr. Crepsley makes his move. Not until I'm forced to act.
The fat man stops again. Bends to examine something. I take a quick step back, afraid he'll spot me, but then I see Mr. Crepsley closing in. Damn! No time to hide. If this is the moment he's chosen to attack, I have to get nearer.
I spring forward several feet, risking being heard. Luckily Mr. Crepsley is entirely focused on the fat man.
I'm only three or four feet behind the vampire now. I bring up the long butcher's knife that I've been holding down by my side. My eyes are glued to Mr. Crepsley. I won't act until he does — I'll give him every chance to prove my terrible suspicions wrong — but the second I see him tensing to spring …
I take a firmer grip on the knife. I've been practicing my swipe all day. I know the exact point I want to hit. One quick cut across Mr. Crepsley's throat and that'll be that. No more vampire. One more carcass to add to the pile.
Long seconds slip by. I don't dare look to see what the fat man is studying. Is he ever going to rise?
Then it happens. The fat man struggles to his feet. Mr. Crepsley hisses. He gets ready to lunge. I position the knife and steady my nerves. The fat man's on his feet now. He hears something. Looks up at the ceiling — wrong way, idiot! — as Mr. Crepsley leaps. As the vampire jumps, so do I, screeching loudly, slashing at him with the knife, determined to kill …
