Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (7 page)

“She’s upstairs trying to read.” Accusation dripped from his brother’s tongue. “The stress really wore her out. She’s not feeling well.”

“I should, umm, go apologize!” He stole the excuse and hurried up the steps. An exasperated grumble came from behind him, but this time, no one followed.

He knocked on the door nearest the stairs. “Merril…?”

No voice invited him inside, but the door creaked open to reveal a tired, familiar face a few moments later. Merril’s features wrinkled with anger and relief in equal measure. “Where were you? I was worried sick!”

He didn’t quite meet her gaze. “I, umm, left a few minutes early and did some errands on the way home. I thought I told you, but…I guess I must’ve forgotten.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Errands? I would’ve just come with you, you know. I like spending time away from the house.”

He rubbed the nape of his neck. “I…stopped at Game Go to pick up a new pre-order. I didn’t really think you’d want to come.”

She crossed her arms. “Just make sure you actually tell me next time, all right? Geez, I looked everywhere for you! I was starting to wonder if…something…”

“Sorry.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

She was fine. He’d need to keep his ears open the rest of the night, but no disaster had befallen his household yet.

She relaxed just a bit,
resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay, even if you are an insensitive moron.”

The moment her breath touched his skin his senses sprung to life, flickering and trembling. It was warm, in a way that his never would be again. His vision wavered and settled on the vein near her neck, manual breath heaving to the rhythm of its pulse and the beat of her throbbing heart.

His stomach flipped in his gut, muscles tensed with the urge to leap, to strike. His jaw ached, salivating. It took conscious effort to clamp it shut and keep his fangs hidden behind his pale lips.

Her warmth.
Her life. Her beating heart. He wanted all of it. He
needed
all of it. He needed the fluid that gave her life to sustain his own.

But he wouldn’t take it. He drew in a long breath to break the pattern and fight off the heat eating his veins.

She stiffened, seeming to sense the shift. “Something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. What was wrong with him? This was Merril. Not some homeless man in an alley. Not a criminal. Not a mouse. Something rancid crawled up his throat and threatened to creep over his tongue.

“N-no.” He tried to keep the disgust from his face. “I’m just…still sorta sick, I think. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Merril called behind him as he turned. “Get some sleep tonight, okay? And make sure you finally eat something!”

Heh.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to feel that way again. If it stayed like that…if that hunger kept eating away at him, then…

He picked up speed and slammed the door to his room behind him.

A killer.
A demon. A monster that’d kill its own loved ones to sate its hunger.

If that was what it meant to be a vampire, then perhaps that man should’ve shot him, after all.

Chapter Six:
Syrupy, Salty and Sweet

Mason rested his head on the lunchroom table, his back bent awkwardly while he stared at the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The hands moved languidly, taunting him. The school day was never going to end.

His muscles hung limply, weak. His vision flickered and waned. His thoughts sparked and cut off, floating like suds in a tub of water. They were barely coherent, his once potent senses dull.

Two days had slipped by since he’d fled the prison. None of the vampires ever had shown up after that, but… His hunger worsened by the hour.

Merril was ill again that morning, so she’d stayed home. That was just as well. He could hardly look at her anymore. He could hardly look at
anyone
anymore. All he saw were swollen veins and beating hearts. Energy and heat waiting to satisfy his desperately dry throat.

He closed his eyes.

What was he going to do? He…wasn’t going to get any better.

“Did you hear? They found another body with bite marks yesterday evening!”

Hmm?

He slowly lifted his lids, urging his drowsy ears to catch the chatter.

“Yeah. It was by the gas station, right? The one by the general store?”

The gas station?
Were they talking about the man Sorrel murdered last week?

“Right.
It was an old woman. Man, they’re even killing the elderly now!”

He sat up with stiff muscles.

An old woman? It wasn’t the murder he’d witnessed, but the victim had apparently been found in the same area.

Had Sorrel killed again, then? Maybe that was her usual hunting spot. He gritted his teeth. What was she doing, committing another murder so near his house? Especially when she’d said they didn’t need to feed often. The man before, as well as a good four glasses of his own blood…wasn’t that enough?

Maybe…maybe he should see what was really going on. Had the vampires really let him go? He knew it was probably best not to rock a boat that was still sailing, but a constant fear nagged at his every waking hour, of which there’d been plenty. Until he’d finally passed out from sheer exhaustion the night before, he’d begun to wonder if vampires were as incapable of sleeping as they were of eating.

He stood up and left the school without a word. He needed to find her while he still had the energy to look.

But, was any of that the real reason he was going?

****

It took Mason a while to reach the gas station, his body and mind fighting in tandem against the instinct willing him onward. It would be dark soon. Martin would pitch another fit if he didn’t hurry and get home.

He studied the alley. There was no body waiting for him with blank eyes and a twisted neck – his victim must’ve been discovered, too – but black blood lingered in the old tar cracks.

If it was Sorrel, he hoped he’d find her there, checking up on her crime scenes under the cover of coming darkness. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. No. It was definitely wishful thinking. Why would she risk returning when she didn’t need to, anyway? He looked around helplessly. Should he go search for her at the prison? He shook his head to himself. There was no way he could do that. He wasn’t in any mood to face a loud, muscular man with a gun and plenty of demands, and wouldn’t be any time soon.

He was about to give up and make his way home when a cacophony of caws stopped him. Crows flew from the rooftops and rushed the gray sky. He looked up just in time to see a telltale brown ponytail vanish over the general store’s roof.

“Ah!” His own luck almost startled him. He stood on the tips of his toes, straining to see. “Sorrel?”

For a while, there was nothing. Then a familiar face peered down over the ledge.

Sorrel frowned. “Y’know, you’re making ignoring you difficult. Why are you here of all places?”

“I need to,
umm, I need to talk to you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. It was easy to forget that this was the girl who’d taken his life – he was asking his own killer for a chat.

“You didn’t seem very eager when you took off.” She objected, not leaving her perch.

“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He managed to find her eyes. “Why hasn’t anyone come after me? Did you all let me go?”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “To actually seek someone out and bring it up. I didn’t realize you were that stupid.” She vanished over the edge of the rooftop. “If you want to talk, then come up here.”

“Eh? But I –”

“You can if you try. Vamps are stronger than humans, remember?”

He bit his lip. “I…don’t feel very well. I can hardly walk.”

A few moments ticked by without a response. He’d started to wonder if she’d simply abandoned his woes when she leapt from the roof. She landed just inches from him, shooting a smile. “Well, let’s do something about that, then.”

He stammered wordlessly, tensing as she leaned closer and gave him a stern looking over.

“You look awful.” Was that a slight frown on her lips? “You still haven’t fed, have you?”

He just shook his head, trying not to tremble. He knew where this was going.

Her blue-grey eyes met his brown ones, unusually solemn. “You need your first meal, soon. I actually haven’t seen any vamps die of starvation yet, but with the way you look, I’d say you’re pretty darn close. I’m not convinced you’ll make it through the night if you don’t feed this evening.”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep any reaction from his face. He believed it. The way he felt now was similar to the way he’d felt before his heart stopped beating. The immense pain was gone, but in exchange, was a haze coating his senses and gradually closing over his mind.

She straightened. “You can’t put it off any longer – you have a choice to make. You kill. Or you let yourself die.”

He shook his head. “I-I can’t…!” Dread weighed down his tongue. “I’m not like you. I’m not a killer!”

She crossed her arms. “Get off your high horse – the fear is written all over your face. You don’t want to die, do you? Certainly not after you’ve just gotten a second chance at a real life?”

He looked down. “I’m sure the people you
murder
don’t want to die, either. I didn’t.”

“Neither does the mouse
that the cat hunts.”

He didn’t answer.

“Human beings are still animals. So are we. The strong survive while the weak fall victim to the food chain. That’s always been the natural order of things, and always will be.”

He didn’t answer.

“Besides, humans have no hope left. Within four years, they’ll all be dead. We still have potential futures. They have to die, we don’t.”

He didn’t answer.

“Look, I’m here to do some hunting anyway. I’ll help you. That’s the real reason you came to find me, isn’t it?”

Maybe it was.

“After you’ve done it once, it won’t seem so bad anymore.” Her voice bounced back to its usual chipper tone. It seemed she didn’t stay down for long. “It’s as I’ve said before. The homeless. Drug dealers. Criminals. We’ll go after people that have nothing to live for, anyway. People that no one will miss.”

He watched his feet. “Someone will miss them, somewhere.”

The last time he’d seen his mother flickered through his head, translucent and faded like old film. There was nothing worse than missing someone. He knew that as well as anyone, and that was exactly why he couldn’t…

“More than your brother and that lovely little girlfriend of yours would miss you?”

He was quiet. A nasty taste welled up in his throat, bitter like bile. The thought of putting blood – real blood, blood from someone else’s body – in his mouth, of swallowing it… His skin crawled, prickling with not only disgust, but also a silent sort of pleasure. The realization made him sicker.

“I’d be a bit sad too.” She leaned in closer, face near his. “You’re my first riser, after all! Don’t waste your second chance.”

He stared at the cracks in the cement, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

“You’re kind.” She closed her eyes. “Surprisingly kind, but isn’t that all the more reason you have to live?”

He raised his chin, their eyes meeting just briefly before she smiled and spun away. “Follow me.”

He followed.

****

Mason shadowed Sorrel while she prowled through the dim alley light. His feet moved slowly, listlessly.

She looked over her shoulder. “You’re lucky I’m with you; you’d never catch anything like that!”

Anything.
Heh. Anyone, more like.

He watched her legs. They slunk through the shadows with an almost feline grace, her lanky figure surprisingly lithe. She really did resemble a cat stalking a mouse.

He paused. A cat and a mouse, huh? Saying those words was one thing, so was using them as justification. But, perhaps she actually believed them. That was something else entirely.

“Sorrel, why are you hunting now?” He whispered. “Didn’t you say that you only need to feed a couple of times a month? You just killed that man – and me – last week.
And what about that old woman a couple of days ago?”

“Hmm?”
She tilted her head. “What old woman?” A coy smirk played with her lips. “You were my last kill.”

“You mean it wasn’t you, who?” He blinked. “But she was found right here with bite marks. I thought…”

“It’s not like we have exclusive hunting grounds, you know. Somebody else must be using this area, too. I –” Her voice cut off. Something flickered through her gaze, but it faded so quickly that he wasn’t able to tell what it was.

“What?” He pressed, dragging himself closer.

“Nothing.” She kept walking.

She was silent after that. Whatever it was bothering her, he clearly wouldn’t be hearing about it anytime soon.

“But still…” He sputtered. “Didn’t you get plenty of, erm, blood last week? Why do you need to hunt now?”

She stopped just long enough to hold down her collar and expose the scar left by the fire iron. “Our bodies heal
on their own, and fast! But, while no one quite understands the specifics yet, healing an injury saps extra energy from whatever it is that keeps us alive. That stab in the neck wasted a lot of strength.” She readjusted her shirt and kept walking. “So, technically, this is your fault.”

He grimaced. Even if her tone was light, her words were heavy. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let you drink peacefully?”

“Precisely.” She chimed. “It would’ve worked out better for you that way, too. You wouldn’t have suffered so much.”

“There’s no way anyone could not fight back!” He insisted. “You must know what it’s like, yourself!”

“I don’t, actually.” She answered simply. “I was never bitten. I was one of the lucky .2%.”

His legs froze beneath him.

That…that was like cheating! How could she talk so casually about it when she’d never been on the receiving end at all! Accepting the cost when she’d already paid it herself was one thing, but she had no right to talk about people losing their lives for another’s when she’d always been the hunter and never the hunted.

“That isn’t fair at all!” Was all he could
manage.

She stopped. “Don’t look at me that way. At least you weren’t left for dead on the sidewalk like road kill.”

“Eh?” The grainy image of Sorrel’s face in the paper came back to him, but the words written beneath it escaped. What had the article said, again?

“When I was human, I lived with my father.” She turned away. “The plague got me on my way back from school one night – I collapsed on the sidewalk and couldn’t make it home. I died there. Victims can rise within four to six hours after death, and I spent that
, plus the time it took for the plague to claim me, just lying there. No father came looking for me when I didn’t come home, not until after he’d had his usual eight hours of sleep…and I only know that now from reading the paper later. No one was there when I woke up. No grieving father. I spied on the house the day after. He was there, drinking soda and watching football on TV, as if nothing had ever happened, as if his only daughter hadn’t just died.”

She ground her teeth. “So, you’re wrong. Not everyone is missed by somebody.”

He just stood there, not knowing what to say. What
could
he say? “Sorrel, I…”

“
Shh. We’ll never find anyone if we keep talking.”

****

Mason fought to keep pace with Sorrel as they wound quietly down the backstreets. The sun was already asleep, dooming him for another of his brother’s tirades when he got home. He was beginning to believe that nothing would come from this grim little excursion when Sorrel froze in front of him.

She peered around the bend, muscles frigid and poised like a carnivore’s waiting to pounce. “There’s someone there.”