Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (6 page)

She glanced over her shoulder.
He jolted back, fresh sweat spawning on his brow. A sharp spike of fear stabbed through him every time she looked at him and erased anything else. He stared at the wall the rest of the way, following her with his ears as much as his eyes.

That's right. He remembered her thin body shoving him to the floor and shuddered. She wasn't normal. She was dangerous. He couldn't forget that.

She led him through the lobby and stopped at an already unlocked door. “This is cell block #2 – the one we’re using.”

What he saw inside sealed his lungs before he could ask what she meant. Steel grating and metal stairs coiled around the thin corridor and divided it into three open stories. There were enough people crammed inside to fill the first floor, and more faces stared down at him from the balconies above. Some hostile or suspicious, some curious, some almost excited.

He froze when he saw two particular sets of eyes – eyes belonging to a boy with brown hair and another with freckles. The two he’d seen at school. The redhead’s lips curved into a wry smile and a woman with them leaned over the railing. She passed him a wink that wrinkled her freckled cheeks before turning away.

Sorrel seemed to follow his gaze.
“Errol and Steve – our scouts at the high school. Most risers stop attending to their old lives altogether, but every once in a while, we’ll send some vamps to populated areas to look for rogues.”

Mason blinked at her.

“We have to be really careful that word of this place and what we are doesn’t get out, so we have a system here. Every time we drain someone, we have to report it to our scouts, and they keep an eye open for the victim to make sure they didn’t rise. If they did, the scouts report it back to the killer, and they have to take care of it. Of course, there is that .2% that rise without a bite. The scouts watch for them, too, but that’s rare. Hell, so are the 1%.” She flashed him a grin. “You’re my first riser, in fact! I’m kind of happy.”

He stifled a dread-heavy swallow. “How many people have you killed?”

She put a finger to her chin. “Oh, well, we usually need to feed about twice per month, and I’ve been a vamp for just under two years so…probably close to fifty? That’s with the people I’ve fed on plus any witnesses. You understand why I had to kill you, right? It wasn’t anything personal.”

“F-fifty?”
His jaw sunk towards the cement. “That’s…! You’re…!”

She tucked her hands behind her back, fingers fiddling. “It sounds like a lot when you say it like that, I guess, but since the plague kills hundreds of people every day, one or two extra per month isn’t very noticeable. We vary our hunting grounds, and there aren’t that many of us here, anyway.”

He scowled, her words still reeling in his ribs. “To the victims and their families, it’s plenty noticeable.”

She frowned just slightly before shrugging it off. “It’s not our problem. A cat will kill a mouse if it’s hungry – it’s the same principle.”

Same…principle…? No! No, it wasn’t like that at all!

He shook his head. “There’s a big difference between a mouse and a human being! People –”

“We try to take drug dealers, the homeless, criminals – people that no one will miss, that the world won’t mourn.” She crossed her arms. “You were just unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

A tense silence came between them.

“I watched your house for a few days after that. As soon as I saw the girl and the older guy leave without you, I made my move. I wasn’t hungry again, yet, but I couldn’t let you go after you’d seen me. I would’ve drained you to put you out of your misery, but you decided it’d be better to jab that thing through my neck.” She pulled down her collar to reveal a jagged red scar. “Vamps are created by the plague. A bite speeds the illness into a frenzy that’ll take out the victim in a matter of hours even if we leave blood in their veins. If we finish them off ourselves, however, death comes much more mercifully.”

“The plague?”
His eyes widened.

She nodded. “Yes. The .2% that
rise on their own are plague victims – we spawned from the illness and carry it with us.”

“That…” His brain ground to a halt, tumbling his thoughts around uselessly. “How does –”

“To put it bluntly,” she interrupted, “we have no clue. Rising seems to be a side effect of sorts that only a handful of people experience out of the millions of victims.”

“But there are scientists all over the world studying the thing!” He spat. “If that were the case, why haven’t we heard anything about it? Some of them must’ve –”

“Who knows?” She shrugged again. “If any of the doctors have discovered anything, they obviously haven’t told us. Maybe their governments won’t let them. It’s not like the news would go over well, after all.”

He just stared, not sure what to say.

“Don’t fret.” She smiled. “It’s better for us if we can stay a secret, anyway. Makes it easier to hunt and hide.”

He looked down, no longer able to ignore the elephant in the room. “Am I…going to have to do that, too?”

She answered with a simple, solemn nod. “If you want to survive, then yes. You will.”

He breathed a shaky moan, fingers digging into his scraggly black hair.

He remembered what it felt like to see her break through his window. What it felt like to lay helpless beneath her. What it felt like to have the blood sucked from his veins. What it felt like to sense his body shutting down. What it felt like to feel the flame of his life flicker and wane, burning up the last of its wick.

“I-I can’t!” He stuttered. “I can’t do that to someone. It’s sick!”

She passed him a sad smile. “We’ll see if you still say that in a couple of days.”

He said nothing, dread tying his stomach in knots. He fought the urge to turn around and run, but before he could, a rough hand clapped his shoulder.

“Oh, come now, it’s not all bad.” A large man hovered behind him, blue eyes glistening. “You’re finally free of the plague!”

He stammered, not able to work his tongue.

“That’s Dale, our makeshift leader.” She explained. “Well, of sorts.”

Dale spoke with a smile wrinkling his features. “In fact, I believe congratulations are in order. You’re one of the lucky ones! You’ve faced the plague, you carry it with you, and yet
, you still walk. You’re one of the survivors!”

“Survivors?”
Mason managed. “But, I’m… I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Dead?”
Dale grinned. “You may have died as a human being, but you’ve started a second life as something else. Something not bound by the plague. One day, when the last living human falls, we’ll be all that’s left.”

Was that…true? If the illness had already taken him, then there was nothing else the pandemic could do. For a strange, elated instant, he felt a surge of hope – something he hadn’t in years. His future no longer had a four year time limit!

But, was that really right?

He frowned. “You just said vampires need to, erm, feed, on people, didn’t you? Won’t they die off when humans do then, too?”

“You’re a sharp one!” Dale laughed. A full, hearty laugh. “But –”

“Now don’t you worry about
that.”

Mason blinked at the new voice, noticing the dark-haired couple standing behind Dale for the first time.

“It’s all being taken care of, so for now, go ahead and go about business as usual.” The man’s voice oozed confidence. “It’ll take a while to adapt to your new life, after all.”

The reassurance went in one ear and out the other. Mason’s mind was elsewhere, studying the stranger’s rounded features, tall stature, and the way his dark brown hair framed his eyes. “Dr. Cliff!”

Clifford Seager. Doctor Cliff. The man in front of him had been his family’s doctor before the plague had claimed him three years prior. He gawked, gaze wide.

“Mason Mild
, was it?” Cliff’s mouth coiled into a smile. “Me and my partner here, Mercy, are busy taking care of everything, so don’t waste your energy worrying.” He smirked. “And that’s a doctor’s order, now.”

Mason was quiet, his mouth full of questions that wouldn’t quite leave it.

The woman beside him absently tugged at her curly black braid. “Something in the virus occasionally allows our brains to function even after most of our organs shut down. It’s an anomaly, but it does have its advantages.” Her voice was flat, clinical. “We no longer have to fear illness or age, immortal to anything but a violent death.”

“Immortal?” He gaped, not realizing he’d said the word aloud until he heard his own voice.

“Potentially.” She nodded. “We’ll die if we starve, or if our brain itself is destroyed.”

The brain?
He chewed his bottom lip. “So…we’re actually more like zombies, then?”

Sorrel crossed her arms. “We share traits with both vampires and zombies, but, tell me, which would you rather call yourself?”

He drew in and released a sigh. “Point taken.”

“There are other changes, as well.” Mercy continued. “Vampires can harness much more muscle strength, and our five senses are actually enhanced from their human capabilities. Unfortunately, however, we require blood – warm, fresh, human blood, nothing else works – to replenish whatever it is that keeps us alive. We can no longer consume standard food or drink, and in
turn, we no longer produce waste. We no longer need to breathe, either, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” A playful tint colored her voice, but her lips remained solemn. “We rely purely on human blood for sustenance. Cliff and I are working to synthesize a substitute, but for now, the only way to survive is to feed.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“A…substitute?”

“It’s a long ways away from completion.” Dale reiterated. “For now, we have a more pressing question that needs an answer.” He drew a pistol from his coat and pointed it at Mason’s forehead.

He nearly bit his tongue, stumbling over his own feet. His hands instructively flew to the air. “W-wha – ?”

“You need to agree to stay here.” Dale narrowed his eyes. “Vampires must feed. And in this city, we must also keep to this prison.
Our safe-house. We cannot let a rouge’s careless actions risk our discovery.” He stepped closer. “All Weldon Hill vampires must stay here, as part of our group, or they must be put down, for the safety of our people as a whole.”

Mason stammered wordlessly, not able to catch the air he needed to speak.

“I’m sorry. Your old life is over now, but letting this one end prematurely would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” Dale smiled. “What do you say, will you stay with us?”

Mason slowly shook his head, his legs trembling with it. “No. No! I won’t! You can’t just decide that. Who are you to decide that?”

“Just someone who wants the best for his people.” Dale gestured to the prison, to the faces watching them with prying eyes and to the oblivious chatting on the floors above. “It’s a precaution we must take for the sake of everyone here.”

“I can’t!” Mason stepped back, adrenaline shooting up his spine. “I’ve got a brother and a sick girlfriend! I have to go home. I have to go home!”

“And what will this family of yours think when you never eat another meal? When you stop aging?” Dale’s fingers shuffled on the barrel of his gun. “Agree to stay here, or I’ll have no choice but to pull the trigger. Don’t make me do that.”

Sorrel frowned. “Just stay. It’s not so bad.”

Mason said nothing, head swimming and churning. He couldn’t have formed a coherent sentence if he’d wanted to.

Instead, he ran. Panic grabbed his legs and carried the rest of him away from the prison.

No bullet entered his head. No bang split the air.

He never dared to look back.

****

Mason paused when he reached his porch, looking around for Sorrel or any other pursuers. He’d half expected to see them pounding up his ass, but the street was silent like always. Déjà vu summoned a morbid chuckle from his lips as he shoved the door aside.

Molly greeted him at the welcome mat, but he ignored her and made for the stairs, hoping to go unnoticed. Martin sat in front of the TV, watching mayor Moorn give some bullshit speech again. He’d never understood why, but his brother had a curiosity for that sort of thing. If he was really quiet…

Martin’s head shot up from the screen. “Mason!”

He grimaced. No such luck.

His brother stood. “Do you even know what time it is, or do you just not care?”

He forced the heat from his cheeks before answering. “I had some errands to run.” He casually hung up his coat and hoped Martin wouldn’t notice his shaking fingers.

“Merril was in a panic when she got home. She couldn’t find you after school let out and came back alone after searching for you for over an hour.”

He tensed, spinning around. “Merril! Where is she?”

What if Sorrel followed through with her earlier threat? What if the vampires decided to punish him not by burying a bullet in his skull, but that of the person he left for? What if they thought they could make him stay by erasing his desire to leave? What if they’d trailed him home? What if they’d
beaten
him home?