Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (5 page)

Heh. How foolish. This was still reality, not one of his fantasy films. He couldn’t help a small chuckle.

“Eh?” Merril tilted her head.

“Nothing.” Mason smiled. “It’s just nice to finally see some sun again.”

****

A new set of faces flashed across the projector and surveyed the class for the last time. Four more dead. Three more missing.

Merril leaned
in closer from her seat to his left, whispering. “Was it this bad all week?”

Mason nodded silently and chewed on a pen already dented with tooth-marks from months past. It was a bad habit, and one that tended to act up when anxious. A fang nearly tore off the plastic tip before he quickly reminded himself to keep his mouth closed.

…He could’ve easily been up there, just one more image on the projector.

“Hmm.”
She tilted her head just slightly as she watched the photos. “A couple of them were from this class, weren’t they?”

He answered with another nod.

Merril was as much a recluse as he was. She was out sick a lot, but when Martin forced her to class, she kept to herself. Or rather, he and Merril kept to themselves. Perhaps that was why they were so close – both at home and in class, all they really had was each other.

****

Mason clenched the edge of the toilet seat and held his head over the bowl. He retched, sending the barely digested contents of that afternoon’s lunch back up his throat. Acid spilled from his lurching stomach.

It finally started to subside after he forced down a full gasp of air, dry heaving fading into tired tremors. He wiped the corner of his mouth and left a yellowed stain on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He’d finally taken up Merril’s offer to share a few bites of her lunch. It hadn’t gone well.

He flushed the toilet with his boot and left the stall, cursing beneath his breath. He was starting to feel hungry now, but… He shook his head, lumbering over to the sink to wash his hands. The reflection in the mirror caught his eye, and he gazed at the glass image of himself for the second time that day. His face was almost as white as his shirt. It was only a matter of time before someone said something.

A shadow shuffled beneath the crack of a stall door, the subtle motion captured in the mirror. He jumped. Was someone there? He hadn’t noticed anyone.

He watched for a while, somehow uneasy, before shrugging the thought away. Whether someone was there or not, it
was
a public restroom. It didn’t matter.

He was drying off his hands when the bathroom door moaned open. A boy with reddish hair and freckles padded straight for the sink. He took the basin a few spaces down, busying himself with washing his hands. The mirror exposed his blue eyes. They were watching the glass, not the bowl.

A nervous prickle bit the back of Mason’s neck. He tossed the paper towel and made for the door before looking over his shoulder. The red-head still busily scrubbed his hands, and the other stall remained silent. He was probably just imagining things. He was on almost too high alert that morning.

He briefly considered staying and trying to make use of the facilities. It was well passed noon now, and he hadn’t pissed since he’d cleaned out the bathrooms yesterday evening. That was, well, generally a bad sign, wasn’t it? Given the mess on his bedroom floor and him not holding anything down all morning, though, perhaps it wasn’t surprising.

He shoved the door away with his shoulder and returned to the hall. He’d run off without having time to say anything when his stomach lurched, so Merril was probably worried.

Even during lunch-hour, the corridors were vastly empty – his ears easily caught the creak of the bathroom door opening. He looked back to see a boy he hadn’t noticed before emerge.

Eh? He craned his neck for a better look. So there had been someone in the stall after all?

A second boy followed – the one with red hair. Mason watched them until the first raised brown eyes to meet his.

He shivered and turned away, hurrying down the hall with quickened steps. Separate footfalls fell in line behind his. It seemed that was happening way too often recently. He just kept walking, refusing to give into his paranoia.

…He was just imagining things, right? They hadn’t actually been spying on him in the bathroom. They weren’t actually following him. They weren’t actually staring into the back of his head. Were they?

He glanced back one last time, unable to resist. They were still there. Something twitched, but he brushed it off. Perhaps they were simply going to the same place he was. He stopped by a window, feigning interest in something outside and waiting to see if they’d walk passed.

They didn’t. They paused a few moments later, sparing each other glances. They stood close and mumbled, as if they’d stopped to chat, but they didn’t seem to be saying much.

A chill sent new swiftness to his legs and hurried him through the cafeteria doors. Two sets of footsteps followed him as soon as he started moving.

****

A shopping bag dangled from Mason’s fingers while he and Merril made their way home. As planned, they’d stopped at the general store for an umbrella and a few miscellaneous odds and ends. Merril had finally picked up her apples and milk along with some of her favorite goodies, but he’d decided to pass on the Cheetos and soda this time.

Merril plopped a few Skittles into her mouth and eyed him curiously. “What are you gonna use all that bleach for?”

He tensed. “I, umm, spilled some root beer on the carpet last night. Need to clean it before Martin finds out.”

She laughed. “If that’s all, I think you might be over-killing it just a bit.”

He chuckled weakly. “Well, so long as it works.”

“As lazy as ever, I see.” She shook her head and sighed. “Good thing your carpet’s already white.”

He smiled, before scratching the back of his hand and sparing a nervous glance around.

Those two boys had not only followed him into the cafeteria, but to a table close to theirs. Merril hadn’t noticed, and he hadn’t seen them after returning to class. He hoped he was simply being paranoid. After all, there was no way anyone could know, was there? How could anyone know? He swallowed a few deep breaths when he realized he’d stopped breathing again.

Merril looked at him. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? You’ve been on edge all day.”

“I guess I’m not feeling too well…” He admitted, hoping to leave it at that.

“You do look pretty darn pale.”

He just nodded, his hand itching again. It stung when he gave it an absent scratch and he looked it over for the first time.

A red welt marred the skin and burned beneath his nails. Now that he thought about it, his cheeks stung a bit, too. Where had that come from? It looked like a rash, but he hadn’t noticed it earlier. Was it because of his…condition?

His pallid skin looked even whiter beneath the blue sky.
Sky. Sun. His eyes widened at the sudden thought and squinted up at the glowing orb.

It couldn’t be…could it?

“Oh!” Merril frowned. “What happened to your hand?”

He stiffened. “I’m not sure.” Not entirely a lie. “Maybe it’s an allergic reaction of some sort.”

“Maybe…” She took the hand and cuffed it between hers before he could pull away, raising her eyes to his. Fog birthed from her lips with each exhale and reminded him to keep breathing. He could only hope she wouldn’t notice his absent pulse. She smiled, but there was something sad there, too. “You’re so cold.”

For a moment, they just stared, green eyes meeting brown.

Then he felt it. Something hot welled up, boiling in his stomach and winding its way through his ribs. It started small but struck fast – a warm hand grabbing the back of his neck. He quivered, skin crawling and nerves pulsing.

It was terrible.
Wonderful. Horrible with the promise of ecstasy.

He was suddenly aware of every vein in Merril’s limbs.
The blue streak bulging at the side of her throat. The lines painting webs under her thin arms. They danced beneath her skin and throbbed with every heartbeat – something he no longer had.

Every muscle in his body ached to move. His tongue rubbed against his fangs, wet and hungry.
His belly throbbed, empty. Her life… Her heat…

“Are you really all right?” She blinked, frowning. “You’re not going to pass out on me or something, are you?”

Ah!

He yanked his hand away as well as his eyes.

“You were kind of zoning out for a minute, there.” The concern in her voice only made it worse.

“S-sorry.”
He tried to meet her gaze, but an ember of that same fire sparked and he looked away. “I…think I need to lie down…”

Chapter Five: Gate to Heaven/Hell

Mason hunched over the lunch table, elbows on the counter and head cradled in his palms.

It was his second day after death. It was also a simple, unspectacular Tuesday.

He’d cleaned his room, covered his broken window with duck-tape, and spent the remainder of yesterday curled up in bed. Not asleep, though. How could he sleep?

Neither Martin nor Merril seemed to suspect anything significant. He had the flu. That was all. But
apparently, the flu wasn’t enough for Martin to let him to stay home. For Merril, sure. For him, no. He was a
man
, after all. He needed to toughen up. He needed to toughen up and become something better than a weakling who sat by his computer all day and spent hours in the confines of his room. He drew in air and let out a sigh. Perhaps school was better than staying home with Martin, anyway.

…Just a few more months. Once he graduated high school, he could start looking for a job and move away with Merril.

Heh. That thought had almost been a normal one. As if they had more than a few measly years. As if his weren’t already over. He couldn’t help one of his brief, bitter chuckles.

Merril flicked his cheek. “Stop being creepy and eat something!”

He blearily lifted his eyes, surprised at her conviction, but keeping it from his face. She’d tried to force food down his throat all morning.

It wouldn’t do any good though. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat – he couldn’t. He hadn’t held down a single bite, swallowed a single sip, or made a single stop at the toilet since two evenings prior. He wasn’t going to try again when he already knew how it would end. That was the definition of insanity, after all, and he hardly enjoyed heaving his guts out.

…What was he going to do? He could get away with it for now by claiming illness, but he couldn’t skip dinner
every
night. And breakfast. And lunch. Not for the rest of his life. Or, well, whatever it was he had now.

Merril waved a half-eaten sandwich in front of his face. “You’ll stay sick much longer if you don’t at least try to hold something down. You need to get some strength back – you’re white as a sheet!” She passed him a painted grin. “Take it from an expert on being ill.”

Mason stared at the tiled floor. “I just need more rest.”

He swallowed a wisp of air to activate his sense of smell. His nose lay dormant when he forgot to breat
he, but when he remembered, the whole room came alive in aromas. The café’s greasy pizza and sickly sweet punch, a blue-cheese salad someone was enjoying halfway across the court, an overcooked hot dog from the table next to theirs, boiled eggs, kettle corn, ham and Swiss, the sandwich in Merril’s fingers. His stomach ached hungrily, but none of it smelled good anymore. Bile stirred in the well of his throat.

He hadn’t noticed it so much the day before, but it almost seemed like his five senses were not only functional,
but also more potent. He could see a spider climbing up the cafeteria wall, and hear the quiet tick tock tick tock of the clock where it was making its web. The chaos of the lunchroom had always blurred into a messy hum, but suddenly, each sound seemed distinct. He heard every voice – not just a composite of them – and saw the furrowed brows and sparkling eyes on faces across the room.

…Was it just his imagination?

He lifted up the rim of his glasses. He’d worn them for distance since his sixth year, but this time, nothing changed when he took them off. He could still find the white silk spiral of the spider’s web. He swallowed, putting them back on to keep from attracting attention.

There were two particular boys he was watching for, and so far, he hadn’t seen them. Perhaps he really was just paranoid.

Merril heaved an audible sigh. “I have an appointment at the lady’s room. You can help yourself to my lunch while I’m gone, if you change your mind.” She pushed herself from the bench and departed down the hallway.

He didn’t answer, still scanning the room. His eyes settled on a classmate at the table next to theirs. The boy laughed, the vein in his neck bulging each time his muscles contracted and pulsing with every beat of his heart.

Mason’s dry mouth dampened, lips aching to curl away from his teeth. It was almost like a lust. His body wanted the soft flesh of the other boy’s shoulder, wanted heat, even while his mind screamed no.

He yanked his eyes away and set them on the counter top. Lingering disgust made the bile in his throat climb higher.

He had those sensations nearly every time he looked at someone. He hadn’t been able to meet Merril in the eye all morning. He groaned and rubbed his fingers across his cold forehead.

Someone shuffled into the seat across from his, but he didn’t bother looking up. It was probably just Merril. He sat like that until a trace of black caught his gaze and made him straighten. Merril never wore black.

Someone else sat across from him, and with their thick hoodie obscuring their face, they could’ve stepped right out of a campy horror film. He opened a tense jaw, but didn’t get a chance to speak.

“Don’t scream.” The figure pulled back its hood to let light reach its face.
Pointed features. Grayish blue eyes. Dark brown hair in a long ponytail.

Her.
It was
her
. His murderer!

Every muscle screamed, telling him to run, but wouldn’t move. It was just like before. Why wouldn’t they move?

She held a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

He heaved down air with a hard, silent swallow.

“So it’s true, I see.” Her mouth curled to a small smile, just enough to reveal the sharp tips of her fangs. “You rose. You really are a troublesome thing, aren’t you?”

“You…!” He snarled, his anxiety boiling into anger. His fingers clenched into fists atop the table.

This was the person who’d taken what was left of his life, but if he was already dead, what did he have to fear?

“What have you done to me?” He shot to his feet, cheeks heating with his rising voice. “What the hell did you do?”

She stared at him with wide eyes, face worried. A sliver of satisfaction fanned his anger. Maybe it was working. Maybe he could make her afraid of him.

He bared his teeth. “You –”

She stood up and leaned close to his face. “Shut it!” The order hissed through clenched teeth. “We’ve got way too many ears in this room.”

He froze, noticing the bewildered faces watching him for the first time. Classmates at nearby tables stared with gazes ranging from interest to alarm, and the fire drained from his body.

He shrunk down, the killer once more collapsing into the seat across from his. They sat quietly until the curiosity started to wane. Every nerve was on edge, throbbing with heat and ice that temporarily replaced his pulse. At least the noise was quickly forgotten amidst returning lunchroom chatter. There were times he was thankful that no one gave a shit about him.

“I get it. You’re angry, and I don’t blame you.” She briefly closed her eyes. “But I need to speak with you. Meet me at the old Hillview Prison after school.”

He said nothing, his throat as tight as the rest of his body.

“If you want to understand what’s going on, then you’ll come.” She smirked. “Don’t get the wrong idea, though. You don’t have a choice. If you don’t show, then I’ll pay you another home visit and kill that pretty little creature
who comes to school with you.”

She said it so simply, with such ease, as if she were merely discussing an after-school movie.

He didn’t realize she’d left until he heard the cafeteria doors swing shut. He just sat there, staring at the table. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

****

An old county jail tucked into the woods, Hillview Prison had never seen much use, and the first year of the plague had left it abandoned completely. Prisoners dwindled until a few became none, and local law enforcement had much more pressing issues to worry about than a couple of teens smoking weed in a gas station parking lot.

It was a dingy, gray building, comprised of cement walls and surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence. For a prison, it was small, but it seemed huge to Mason as he trudged up the overgrown dirt road.

This was mad. Absolutely mad! But…

“If you don’t show, then I’ll pay you another home visit and kill that pretty little creature
who comes to school with you.”

He chewed his bottom lip. He had no choice. She’d follow through on her threat – after all, she’d already done so once.

The thought of his killer breaking in through Merril’s window forced his feet forward. That…and he wanted to know. He was scared, but not knowing was scarier still. His body moved even while his mind lingered a few steps behind.

As he crested the top of the incline, he saw her, perched on the trunk of a fallen tree with legs swinging back and forth. Sure enough, she was waiting. All the heat he had left pooled in his cheeks.

“You did come!” She plopped down and padded up to him. “I was starting to worry you’d be a no show, and I can’t say I was thrilled about going back to your house. That dog of yours was a pain.”

He said nothing.

“I suppose this is our first proper meeting, so…” She held out a hand. “Sorrel.”

Sorrel, huh?
Gooseflesh crawled up his arms. He’d recognized her, he’d been sure of it, but hearing it from her own tongue was something else entirely.

He made a point of tucking his hands into his pockets. “I know.”

Sorrel’s lips fell into a frown. “It’s impolite to decline a handshake.”

He rocked on his heels, teeth grinding. Was this really the same Sorrel who’d killed the man in the alley? Who’d broken into his bedroom and left him for dead? “It’d say it’s worse to
shatter someone’s window and murder them in their own bedroom.”

She grinned. “Ah! But you see, we weren’t the same then – manners didn’t apply. Now that we’re the same, things are different.”

He stiffened. “The same?”

She clicked her tongue. “You said it yourself just a moment ago.
Murdered. You’re no longer a living human being.”

His fingers and feet went numb, shivers eating away at his skull. He’d known that, too, but if hearing her speak her name had been strange, this was far worse.

He…was no longer a living human being.

The chill turned hot. “What am I, then?” He spat with balled fists.

Whatever it was, it was her fault.

“There’s no need to yell.” She crossed her arms. “You’re a vampire, now. Or at least, that’s what we call ourselves.”

It was true, then. This time he felt nothing. He’d already used up all his disbelief.

“You’re lucky, you know.” She chimed. “Even with a bite, only 1% of the dead rise up. I didn’t think you would.”

Numbers. He didn’t care about numbers just then. “Real vampires?” The words rasped, struggling to find the air they needed. “Like the kind in B-horror and awful romance movies?”

She laughed. “Don’t be stupid! We’re not talking fiction. We simply happen to share a lot of their characteristics, so we borrowed the name.”

He realized he should ask exactly what that meant, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He remembered the blood draining from his body and the sore welts on his wrist. He remembered that sick, hungry ache. He already had a pretty good idea.

“Come with me. Dale will explain it all better than I can.” She turned towards the prison gate, its steel bars tall and solid. It opened with little more than a flick of her wrist. He couldn’t help but gape a bit, in spite of himself.

She shot him a grin. “You could do it too, if you tried. We’re stronger than humans.”

He blinked.
“Wha –?”

“Come on.” She
hurried on without waiting for him.

He rummaged for whatever scraps of courage he had left and gathered them up. Anger mingled with fear, but he
buried the fluttering throb inside his stomach. He had no choice but to do as he was told. First, he was her prey, now he was her puppet.

But…if he was already dead, then what was the worst that could happen?

****

The prison’s floor was cold through the soles of Mason’s shoes. It smelled of rust and
crawled with sour, metallic tangs. He found himself following closely behind Sorrel, scanning the shapes and silhouettes with stiff steps. Clinging to his killer’s shadow to keep from cowering – what a fantastic irony.

He couldn’t help taking a better look at her. This girl who’d stolen his life away and now chatted as casually as a close friend. She shared none of his fear, moving with certainty instead of unease. There was something almost masculine – or powerful, at least – about the way she walked, but it wasn’t without a feline sort of grace. Her breasts bobbed with each step, barely peeking through the neck of her black blouse, while her ponytail wagged behind her like a mischievous, twitching tail.
Her blue-gray eyes glistened in the dim light and her colorless skin resembled porcelain more than the pale of death. For a dead girl, she actually wasn't...