“Danika…please no, no. Not Danika. Not Danika.”
Flint straddles my hips and whispers into my ear. “Go back, little SPEAR. Find an unhappy place.”
I flail at him, striking with all my might, but my hands strike nothing but air…
* * *
She’s too quick. How can she be so fast? I was sure that punch would have hit.
I run up to the wall and put my back against it, using the shadows of the tall building to cloak me. No doubt the creature can see me regardless, but at least it can’t sneak up from behind this way.
My fingers are sweaty around the butt of my handgun, making the grip slip and slide. One by one, I wipe the residue against my jeans and resettle my grip. Better.
Though it takes several seconds, I force my mind to focus. To collect the facts I already know and form them into some form of coherent picture.
Vampires. Two or three, but spilling into the shopping centre through multiple doors is enough to make people panic. Hardly surprising when it’s weird enough that we even acknowledge vampires as real things. Sure it’s been a few years, but not everybody has accepted the truth as easily as—
My thoughts scatter as a heavy fist slams into my stomach. Air gushes out of me, leaving me gasping, wheezing, choking.
I can’t breathe, fuck, I can’t breathe. Am I going to die? Already?
Colours swim before my eyes as I sink to my knees on the dirty paving slabs.
Think. I have to think. I have to figure out a way to—
She has me again. By the throat this time, hefting me into the air with my back to the wall. She forces me against the brick, and my legs are dangling, lifeless and helpless.
Kicking does nothing, punching does nothing.
Oh, God, no, no, no, she’s looking at me. Bright silver eyes and long fangs dripping with saliva tinged pink with blood. Other people’s blood.
This thing has already been feeding and now she wants me.
My heart is racing so hard, part of me fears it might slam straight through my chest. I can hear it thudding in my ears, in my skull, in my brain.
“One more for the hold,” she says. “You’re strong too. A good catch.”
I’ve no idea what that means, but at least it means she doesn’t intend to eat me right now. But she does bite.
Pain races through my shoulder as she bites there, grinding her teeth together like a pit bull. She shakes back and forth, seemingly intent on causing as much pain as she possibly can while I scream and cry out.
I remember the gun just as my vision starts to cloud.
From this angle, I can’t possibly get a kill shot, but maybe I can injure her?
I fire, barely aiming, just trying to squeeze off at least one bullet before I pass out from pain and oxygen deprivation.
The gunshot is thunderous in my ears and the gun kicks back against my grip. The sensation is such a shock that I end up dropping it. No way was the recoil so strong when I fired one of these at the training facility. Was it?
Doesn’t matter. The vampire snarls and rips her fangs from my shoulder, peering down at the mess my shot has made of the front of her chest. Oh, good. I hit her, maybe I’ll be okay, maybe I’ll—
White light. Stars. Ringing.
It takes me several precious seconds to realize she’s punched me, and the taste of pennies floods my tongue. I’m sliding down the wall now, sucking in air, but throbbing from so many different areas, that I barely know which way is up.
My vision is blurred out completely, with tears, sweat, or both. Both hands shake as I retrieve the gun, trying to find my target in the darkness.
Is she there? Or to my right? Above?
It’s definitely tears blinding me now, and my lower lip trembles to match my hands.
Never in my entire life have I felt pain like this. Not when the girls at school used to bully me and pull my hair. Not when I got into fights to protect my sweet little sister. Not even when training with the big blue gargoyle who liked to perform elbow strikes with the spikes on the end of his forearm.
No, this is something new, this is something—
It’s back. The vampire grabs me with both hands on my shoulders, drawing me close. I can see the white flash of fangs in the darkness and lift the gun, jamming it right against those twin lines of white before I fire.
Again, the retort blinds and deafens me, but that’s nothing to the shriek of agony from the thing in front of me. A moist red mist sprays into my face and the vampire falls back away from me, clutching her face with both hands.
She’s gurgling, trying to speak, but my bullet has wrecked her vocal cords.
“Why won’t you just die?” I scream at her, levelling my gun again and firing one more shot. And another. And another. And another.
The third seems to do the trick, because the shrieking woman abruptly falls silent and presses both hands to her chest. She glares at me with hate burning in the silver of her eyes, then spits up a huge glob of thick, black ooze.
The first gobbet is followed by a second, then a third, then a stream of the stuff, thick and stinking, spilling down her neck and chest.
I’ve read a lot of books on vampires and other supernatural creatures, but nothing so far has ever described the smell. It’s like spoiled meat, tarnished pennies, and bodily wastes all piled into one stinking wave.
I gag, then heave, then vomit.
The vampire melts and oozes away into that same sticky black matter, spilling out of her clothes as each limb gives in to the decay. By the time I’m finished emptying my stomach, she’s gone, leaving nothing but her clothes.
Slowly, relieved, I sink to my knees. The stuff is probably all over me, but I don’t care, I’m alive. I’m alive. I did it. I survived. I killed it.
Several minutes pass before I manage to find my feet again. Another two before I can walk.
Then, at last, I’m able to limp away from the wall and toward the front of the shopping centre where the emergency services have gathered along with all the staff.
I can tell Dad all about it. He’ll be so proud.
The thought dries a few of the tears from my eyes as I slowly inch my way around the building…
* * *
…Only to drop to my knees again. My body just won’t cooperate, wracked by painful memories. I don’t want to remember, I just don’t. I can’t. I can’t go back to that awful, awful night.
Right behind me, Flint follows with the widest of smiles on his face. “You look much more distressed now, Danika, that’s much better. Are you there yet? Have you reached your worst memory? Or perhaps there’s a little further?”
He crouches beside me, resting his elbows on his knees and continuing with such a conversational tone that we might have been discussing recipes or TV shows.
“This is how I picked my pack you know. Especially this one here.” He gestures to his own body. “He thought himself so strong, but gave up soon enough when I showed him just the sort of person he is. What sort of person are you, little agent?”
“Fuck…you…”
“This one abandoned his family. Did you know that? He became a wolf and left his wife and child. The same night he took his things from their home, a pack at odds with his own attacked and murdered his family. Can you imagine?”
Through bleary eyes I can see just how little progress I’ve made. I’m trying to get to Rayne, but my legs still won’t take me there.
She’s stopped thrashing now, no longer screaming, but her eyes are glassy with tears, her jaw slack and lifeless. Again and again she whispers my name, but she clearly can’t see me.
What the hell type of memory is she living? How can I get her out of it?
More scenes from the past flash before my eyes.
I fight to push them aside, but they grow brighter and brighter before me the more I fight them.
The gathered emergency response units outside the shopping centre in what used to be the old West Side. The milling bodies rushing to and fro. The unifo
rmed security teams blocking the doors and holding back the crowd. The distinct lack of one, grey, long-haired head.
“Dad…”
My voice cracks. Tears gather in my eyes.
“I’m so sorry. Dad…Dad…”
* * *
“Dad. Come on, where are you? Say something.”
Dozens of people around me call my father’s name, staff from the security team, police officers, members of SPEAR. Some of them are people I trained with, others are older and more serious in the face. It’s easy to tell the difference between new recruits and the veterans and not just by age. It seems those who trained with me, those new to SPEAR, still have hope in their eyes. The others, mostly older men littered with crucifixes and shotguns, seem less optimistic.
One of them even pumps his shotgun and slows to a walk, saying, “We’ll hear the critter better if we’re quiet. Keep your eyes peeled.”
My arm hurts. My legs hurt. Hell, my eyes hurt; everything hurts. There are Omega units outside who fought against my desire to return to this place, but they don’t understand, and I didn’t have time to explain.
All the other security guards are outside, but not my dad. And when questioned about their colleague, none of them seemed to know where he was or what happened. One or two mentioned seeing him herding civilians, but after that, nothing.
I seem to be carrying my heart in my mouth, but I can’t help it. Horrible, terrifying thoughts fill my head, most of them involving blood, fangs, and screams. Screams from my father.
My stomach forms tight little knots of fear that nothing but action seems to affect.
He has to be all right. He has to be all right.
I tell myself over and over.
He’s fine. He has to be. Probably stuck helping a few more civilians. He’s always been that way. Maybe I’ll find him up in the security staff room, grabbing his things so we can head out for the drink we had planned. Surely he’s fine. He has to be fine. He has to be.
I keep up the mantra all the way to the lifts that lead to the staffing areas.
Now that we’ve spread out, there are two other agents with me. One is a little older than me with thin, angry lips and a permanent frown slashed across her forehead. The other is a lot older with scars all over his hands and wrists. Oh, and down the side of his neck. Makes me shudder just to look at him.
As we step from the lift, he points out the three different routes for us to take. “I’ll go left toward the car park entrance. Francine, you go along the centre to the other part of the mezzanine. Rookie, you take the left and into the staff rooms.
Francine nods her grumpy little head and sets off at once. I’m sure she’s a Beta because she didn’t train with me, yet she moves with more assured confidence than I could ever dream of.
When I hesitate, the older man claps me on the shoulder. I think his name is Zachariah. “First field mission, Rookie?”
I nod. My mouth is too dry to manage speaking.
“You’ll be fine. You wouldn’t have that badge if you didn’t train for this. And we wouldn’t let you have it if we didn’t think you could handle it.”
With much effort I swallow past the dryness enough to work a little moisture into my mouth. “It’s my dad. He’s the one that’s missing.”
His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “You gonna be okay?”
“I…yes. I’m fine.”
The gun in his hands creaks ominously as he tightens his grip. “Whatever happens, don’t hesitate. You can’t afford to. You got that? Don’t. Hesitate.”
“Wait, what do you mean?”
But he’s already gone, jogging across the walkway toward the door that leads to the car park.
I’m alone.
My own gun, now replenished with wood-tipped bullets, feels almost too heavy to hold. My bitten shoulder sings with pain, and part of me regrets not letting the Omega agents take a look at it before coming up here.
I make my way across the walkway and through the open door marked “Staff.” Good thing emergency evacuations unlock all doors.
It’s so quiet in here. Eerily so, with one of the lights overhead flickering like a bad horror film.
The first three doors lead to bathrooms: male, female, and mixed. To check them, I have to enter each one and knock back the door on each stall. Every time I do, the fear curling around my heart grips a little tighter.
What if I can’t find him? What if something has happened to him? What if one of the vampires got him and he’s bleeding out somewhere?
By the time I finish checking the mixed bathroom, my stomach is so tense that I feel I might vomit again.
“Dad? Are you here? It’s your little bean, Dad? Hello?”
My voice echoes in the empty stillness of the corridor and I try the next door. Coffee room, where all the staff can sit for their breaks if they so wish.
The scent of coffee still hangs in the air, along with the faint sound of a radio playing. Soft, squishy chairs and a few tables lined with plastic chairs stand opposite a work surface holding a microwave, coffee maker, empty mug tree, and dented biscuit tin.
Next door.
This one is marked “Management” and isn’t open like all the others. In fact, it’s hanging on its hinges, tilted hard toward the frame as though pulled. Oh, and there are scratch marks on the wood.
“Dad…”
Once more I have to pause to wipe the sweat from my hands. Then I open the door.
Devastation. The room has been turned over, flipped and turned again, with broken office furniture littering the space. Drawers have been ripped out of the cabinet lying on its side, and three potted plants spill their earthy guts across the carpet. Blood liberally paints the remains of the desk and the computer sparking and spluttering in the far corner.
But all that…it’s nothing to what I see lying on the floor. A tall, dark-skinned man, with long, grey locs and a security uniform.
“Dad?” I drop the gun. “Dad.” Rush to his side. “Dad, please.” Drop to my knees beside him.
He turns when I touch him, slow and weak. I catch traces of the raw, chewed up mess on the side of his throat before I see his face. Both eyes closed. Red stained lips slightly parted. Breathing shallow, but present.
“Dad, please. Open your eyes.” I drag him into my arms and cradle his head against my chest. “It’s me, it’s Bean. Dad? Dad, please?”
One eye opens. Painfully. Slowly.
“Bean?”
I drop him. Can’t help it.
His eye is silver.
“Dad?”
He opens the other eye with the same, slow, careful deliberation and fixes me with a hot, hungry gaze. “My little bean,” he whispers. Each word struggles around the needle-sharp fangs bristling at the front of his mouth. “I was looking for you. Where have you been?”
“Dad? Oh, God, Dad, what happened?”
The thoughts seem to move slowly in his mind. For a brief moment his gaze becomes distant, then he returns his focus to me with a palpable snap. “You smell…amazing. Why—what—you…” He sniffs hard, then clutches at my arms to pull himself forward, dragging himself up my body. Toward my shoulder.
His tongue flicks out and revulsion powers through me as he laps at the blood staining my clothing.
“That’s nice. I like that. More of that, please.” His mouth opens wide.
“No, no, no.” I’m back-pedalling on my hands and arse, but the cabinet is in the way. I try to scoot left, but suddenly he’s there and now I can’t get to the door. He’s right there, blocking my path, taking his feet to loom above me with every inch of his impressive height.
Dad grins, showing off fangs. “Just a taste, little one?”
He lunges and only the protruding leg of the shattered table saves me. He trips on it, giving me precious seconds to throw myself to the side, again deeper into the room.
“Dad? Please, don’t. Don’t you know me? It’s Danika. Your Bean. Please.”
He hefts the table o
ut of the way with one careless swipe of his hand. It slams into the wall and several more pieces break away from the main surface.
I scream, a mix of fear and panic seizing my body into a useless lump of immobile flesh. I can’t move. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I do anything?
Dad doesn’t reach for me like the other vampire did, instead he gets down to my level. He crawls across the ground like some sinister panther and pushes right up into my face. His breath, his tongue, his lips are rough against my throat as he scents me like a fine, gourmet meal.
His mouth opens. I still can’t move.
“Dad, please.”
With a sudden shriek, he reels back from my body, clutching his head with both hands. His moans are the pitiful cries of a wounded animal, filled with pain and terror.
“Can’t…” The words struggle through his bristling mouth. “Have…help me…please…”
I stand, make a move toward him. “It’s okay, Dad, I can help you. Let me help, I—”
“Don’t touch me.” It’s a frantic bellow of panic, paired with shaking hands. “Don’t. Don’t come closer. I can’t control it. Don’t. Stay there, Bean, stay. Stay.” The silver in his eyes winks in and out. Each time it fades I can see his eyes, my father’s eyes, and the life and love that lives behind them. But when the silver returns, the man I know is gone, replaced by a monster gaining more and more control.
I have no idea what to do. Nothing in my training has prepared me for this and every inch of me wants to curl up and hide. But from my dad?
This can’t be happening. This just can’t be happening to my father.
The silver is back. He’s grinning. Both arms are spread wide as he paces toward me, blocking off escape with his bulk. Long lines of drool slide from his mouth, shiny and slick in the half light. I scramble to my feet, but he’s too quick, fisting his hand in my jacket to drag me close.
“Dad?” My voice is the lowest of childlike whispers.
But it’s not him. Not anymore. There is no recognition in his eyes, no love or care, just hunger, blind and savage. He aims a bite at my throat, catching a mouthful of fabric as I twist in his grip. Another attempt, this time caught on my elbow as I aim a strike at his face.
Moon Fever Page 30
