Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (10 page)

For the first time, he realized just how rancid a vampire’s breath was. Her low groan crawled up his nostrils, daring him.

Was she going to murder someone? Should he tell Dale? Leader or not, maybe he could stop her! But…

He shook his head. “No.”
             

Spineless coward.

Alex rewarded him with a grin. “Good. It’d be a pity if I had to silence you. We vamps should stick together, you know?” She turned away, continuing her march down the dirt road. “I’ll be here until dusk – come find me, if you change your mind.” She waved without looking back.

****

Mason found Merril lying on the couch, eyes closed with the cat crowding her lap. She shivered, even beneath her favorite plush blue blanket. He found the sweat on her brow without needing to touch it, her clammy skin glistening with the sickly yellow hue of the living room lamps. A dinner plate sat on the coffee table, untouched.

Mason swallowed and looked up to see his brother reading the local paper. Martin reclined with his feet on the counter, no food beside him. Maybe dinner had already come and gone – he’d lost track of time while he was out there.

“She got worse.” Martin grumbled without looking up. “Found her leaning against the bathroom sink when I got home, half asleep with fever. She was alone, so she’d been there a while.” Pointed eyes looked at him over the newspaper’s rim. “Fetched her some ibuprofen and helped her to the couch, but she’s asleep again. Just leave her alone for a while.”

Mason
frowned, brushing past both his brother and the guilt he was trying to press on him to fetch a spoon from the kitchen. He felt Martin’s eyes glowering into the back of his head without turning around. They were angry, no doubt, but…they seemed disappointed, too. He paused, staring blankly down at the drawer, before taking what he needed and pushing it shut. Merril’s worsening wasn’t his fault! She could’ve brought the phone with her into the bathroom. She could’ve called him. He hadn’t stayed with her as his brother had told him to, and perhaps he should’ve, but he’d left for her sake, too. He’d wanted to do something to help her instead of simply waiting for her to get worse.

But had it really been for her sake?

A small splotch of doubt clung to the back of his head. As much as he’d feared going back to the old jail, his own house sometimes felt like its own sort of prison. Maybe he’d wanted some excitement. A little interest. A little suspense. Now that he’d tasted a different world, perhaps the same white walls weren’t enough anymore. Maybe he wasn’t content always staying locked away at home with nothing but his computer and his sick girlfriend.

And…

An image of Sorrel flickered in front of him, smiling mischievously at him with her pale lips and bright blue eyes. She looked alive. More like the girl he’d seen grinning in the old newspaper than the murderer he’d met in the alley. More alive than the heavy haze that seemed to fill his house.

He stopped. His thoughts bubbled up more guilt than his brother’s words, surprising him as much as sickening him. He quickly swallowed them down into his churning stomach, and hurried over to Merril.

She was still asleep, wet beads dampening her closed lids. He took the medicine bottle from his pocket, set it on the coffee table, and balanced the spoon on the lid. He ran gentle fingers across her cheek. Another bite of guilt came at the thought of waking her up, but she didn’t look good. The sooner she got the antibiotics down, the better.

She stirred and blearily opened her eyes. “…Mason?”

He gestured to the bottle beside her. “Try this. It’s generic, but it might help. Depends on what you have, I guess.”

“Where…?” She asked, blinking in tired confusion. “Where did that come from?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mason, where did you get that?” Martin’s voice was far harsher. Mason hadn’t realized his brother was even listening.

He looked to the kitchen with a frown. “Does it matter? It’s just standard penicillin?”

“Where did you get it?” Martin’s lips formed every word, precise, loud and slow.

Mason sighed. Why was his brother so high-strung? “I…ran into someone from school while I was out for my walk. I asked them if they had any spare antibiotics, and as luck would have it, they did. That’s all.”

“And they just gave it to you?” Martin arched an incredulous brow. “A shut in who would be nearly as much a stranger to them as the average passerby?”

Mason ground his teeth. “Excuse me?”

Martin shrugged. “Well it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not exactly friends with any of your classmates. I find it hard to believe they’d be willing to simply give you their spare drugs.”

Heat rushed to Mason’s cheeks and made him hope it wasn’t visible on his pale skin. “It’s my choice! Why would I need friends, especially when they could drop dead next morning?” He swallowed and released a breath. “They didn’t just give it to me. I bought it off them.”

Martin opened his mouth – wide, as if he were going to yell – but Merril spoke up first. “Thanks, Mason.” A grin lit her thin lips. “I’ll pay you back for it.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s –”

“Merril, don’t take it.” Martin ordered.

“…Why?” She blinked up at him with reddened eyes.

“It’s not like it’s poisoned or anything!” This time Mason beat his brother. “I wouldn’t give it to her if I wasn’t sure it was safe. I’ll take a sip myself, if you want me to!”

Well…that probably wouldn’t work, he realized after speaking. It’d come right back up, which wouldn’t really do much to prove its safety.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

Merril rose to a sitting position, moving slowly. “No, I trust Mason.” She smiled, and the mixture of ice and heat covering his ribs melted away. “If he says
it’s fine, then I’m sure it is.” She pulled off the lid, poured some onto the spoon, and swallowed it down. “Let’s see if it works, shall we?”

Mason returned the smile and took the rest of the antibiotics to the kitchen. An arm clasped his shoulder from behind, nearly making him drop it.

Martin’s brown eyes bore into his own when he whirled. “What’s gotten into you these last couple weeks? You’ve been disappearing, coming home late, getting up early, skipping meals, locking yourself in your room…do I even need to go on?”

The heat returned to Mason’s cold veins. His brother’s words could have been those of concern, but there was a biting, accusatory ice there that shifted their meaning. “It’s nothing.” He scowled. “I’ve, umm…” What was a good excuse that could cover everything? Nothing came to mind. “Err…I just…haven’t been feeling well.”

“And that makes you come home late from school and get up early?”

He didn’t know if it was possible anymore, but he swore his face reddened. His fingers dug into his palms. “It’s none of your damn business. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life!”

“You live that life in my house. You live it under my rules.” Martin held a finger to his brother’s face. “I want to know where you’re going, who you’re seeing, and when. I’m not a fool.”

“It’s not your house,
it’s Mom’s!” The words tore from Mason’s lungs before he had a chance to think.

A hand smacked against his nose, connecting with the snap of flesh on flesh. He stumbled backwards, grasping at the sink to keep his footing. His fingers flew over his nose so his brother wouldn’t see that it wasn’t bleeding.

He’d…hit him. Martin had hit him. It…wasn’t the first time, but…

Mason glared over his aching nose, the shock in his eyes melting away to an angry, bitter defiance. If his brother thought something as simple as that would gain obedience, he was wrong. Oh, he was wrong! Also contrary to popular belief, he did have a spine. “You aren’t Mom. You aren’t my father. Don’t try to be.”

Martin’s nostrils flared, but he ignored his brother’s words. “You’ll let me know where you’re going each day, and when you’ll be back. Are we clear?”

“Yes
. I understand what you want.” Mason forced his gaze not to falter. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to comply.”

“You will, unless you want to be grounded until after Christmas.”

“I’m not an animal. You can’t keep me caged.”

Martin’s fingers curled into a fist, still shaking. Heh; what his brother really craved was to punch him in the gut. He could if he wanted to. Mason didn’t care.

“I’m not her, but Mom left me in charge of you. If you respected her, then you respect me.” Martin narrowed his eyes, sweat wetting his brow.

“Is something going on?” Merril spoke for the first time, looking towards the kitchen. Her eyes met Mason’s with a note of sympathy – chances were she already knew the answer to her own question.

He looked away from her and back to Martin, lowering his voice. “She didn’t leave you in charge. She never had the chance to leave
anyone
in charge! You’re older, so what? I’m eighteen now. That’s not enough!”

“You know as well as I do that Mom counted on me when she couldn’t be there.” Martin’s voice slipped through barred teeth. “I don’t want to disappoint her by letting you waste what time you have left.”

“How can you say that when you’re the one who killed her?” Mason screamed, something inside him ripping loose before he could cage it.

A heavy fist connected with his stomach and sent him tumbling into the cupboards. This time he couldn’t save himself – the kitchen floor rose to meet him.

“Mason!” Merril was up in an instant, leaning against the couch and staring into the kitchen with wide eyes.

Well, there was that punch in the gut. He gritted his teeth and stared at the tile, not saying anything.

“When you get a job and live on your own, you’ll never have to see me again. Until then, it's my house, my rules. I’m doing what I must to protect you and Merril. That’s all. Like it or not, you are my responsibility.”

Mason opened his mouth, about to blurt another defiant bark, but Merril spoke first. “Guys stop – look!”

Her eyes were on the TV now, equally as wide. Something had definitely caught her interest. He slowly scraped himself off the floor and pointedly turned his back to Martin. His stomach throbbed, but he refused to let it show. It would heal in a few moments, anyway. “What?”

“Just look.” Merril chewed her fingernails – something she only did when anxious.

He followed her gaze and heaved a gasp when he saw the flickering pictures.

People lay dead in the streets. Not the occasional limp body the plague left behind, but corpses spread along the sidewalks like discarded litter. They stared through the TV with stretched, blank eyes and bodies ruined by gashes. Some were painted red. Some were torn but dry and pale. Some were peppered with bullet holes. Some had knives left in them. Some were decapitated, heads and bodies lying separate.

Merril’s hand moved to cover her lips. Mason’s clasped his jaw to keep bile from escaping his rancid gut. Even Martin stood stiffly behind him.

“What you’re seeing is the result of a mass riot in the streets of Rocher. This ghastly scene was created when a group of residents razed an abandoned homeless shelter on the outskirts of town.” The news anchor’s voice was calm, impartial. “They burned the building down, calling the group of people gathered inside ‘vampires’, and assaulted those who escaped with guns and knives. The victims fought back, and the two sides nearly wiped each other out in what officials are calling the most violent and senseless local tragedy in years.”

…Vampires? Mason’s limbs went numb.

The screen moved to a different image –a dead man with two jagged red dots in his neck. He swallowed hard, recognizing them immediately.

“The panic in Rocher had been building slowly over the last couple weeks, after several victims were found with marks like these. Certain sects claimed the town had been cursed by ‘vampires’, and unfortunately, some of them took their paranoia to terrifying extremes.”

More shots of the carnage.
Death. A death no one would rise from. Destruction. Massacre. Slaughter. Butchery.

He looked at the floor, suddenly unable to watch. His stomach churned, bitter acid crawling up the back of his throat. It heaved and constricted, leaving him afraid it might spill out. He didn’t look up until the pictures faded.

Was that homeless shelter…like the prison?

“The reason the original victims were gathered inside the shelter is not yet clear. The mayor has also declined to comment until the initial investigation is finished. Currently, we –”

The TV went black. Mason stared at the blank screen, before slowly turning to see Martin holding the remote. He realized for the first time how stiff his body was, every muscle standing on edge.

“Disgusting.
They have no place showing that on TV.” His brother looked equally tense, practically throwing the remote to the couch.

“T-that’s…” Merril sputtered, her voice muted by the hand still covering her mouth.

Corpses that didn’t bleed. Victims found with bite marks. Bodies left decapitated. The town had caught on to the vampires’ presence, and then they’d…

A shiver crawled up his spine with cold fingers. Rocher was just the next town over.
The mangled bodies. The bloodied tar. That wasn’t going to happen here, was it? Nothing like that was going to happen in Wheldon Hill! It wasn’t…was it?