Something of the Night (8 page)

“Have you got a surgery in here?”
he asked, his eyes remaining on the woman’s pale face.

“Yeah, but few supplies,”
Patterson said.

“As long as we can get her
warm, and quickly, then I think she’ll be just fine,” the doctor said.

Slinging the machinegun over
his shoulder, Daniel stepped forward. He knelt beside the woman. Then forced
his hands underneath her limp body and pulled her up from the hard surface. She
was as light as an infant. He held her tightly against his chest. A cold energy
radiated outwards, which sent a shiver of cold spiders skittering along the
length of Daniel’s spine.

“Let’s go,” he said, and took
a step away from the group.

“I should go with you,” the
doctor suggested.

Major Patterson gave a simple
nod and the doctor quickly joined Daniel at his side.

“Anyone else in need of
treatment?” Father asked.

One or two refugees stepped
forwards to reveal blackened and bruised injuries, but most were unharmed and
in relatively good health, considering their ordeal.

“I hope she’s gonna be okay,”
a young teenager said, through a threadbare cowl.

“She seemed fine when we
picked her up,” another figure commented.

“Picked her up?” Patterson
asked.

The second speaker turned. A
hollow face with ancient skin spoke. “Found her ‘bout twenty miles back, alone.
Said she’d escaped from some kinda camp.”

“Camp?” Patterson questioned.

“Yeah,” the teenager
interjected, “said she’d been held in some sort of … breeding camp? But she
must have escape-”

The young man’s sentence was
cut abruptly short when the military figure before him turned quickly on his
heels and headed away.

***

She lay in his arms, the strong drum of his heart
beating against her. Although her own organ effortlessly pumped blood through
her veins and arteries, the liquid ran cold, and instead of each cell
containing a living nucleus, it housed nothing but dead matter. The only heat
that came from her body was the fire that burnt inside her closed fist.

She carefully laid her arm
across her chest and nestled the hand underneath the folds of her opposite arm.
At first, she felt just a mere tingle of heat. The sensation was a welcome one
to begin with, for her body had been cocooned within its shroud of cold flesh
for as long as she could remember. But quickly the warmth turned to pain, and
after holding the stolen glass vial for a couple of minutes only, she felt her
palm begin to blister.

It had been a dangerous risk
to swap the vial of holy water for one unblessed, but a risk worth taking
nonetheless. A hundred different things could have gone wrong, mainly getting
killed. But as planned, she’d managed to distract everyone’s attention and get
close enough to swap the holy man’s vial. She had almost aborted the original
plan, surprised by the Major’s instant arrival. Not expecting the leader to be
present so early, she had fought against an urge to rip his throat out right
there, in front of everybody.

Her thoughts turned away from
the promise of pleasures to come, and she focused her attention instead on the
agony in her hand. She thought she could hear her flesh actually sizzle from
the heat. And, occasionally, a whiff of cooked meat found its way inside her
nostrils. Eventually the pain became unbearable. Unable to hold the vial any
longer she filled her lungs and released a thunderous cough.

***

Major Patterson turned a corner. He spotted Daniel and
the doctor up ahead. A roar sounded and Patterson saw the woman in Daniel’s
arms twitch violently. He quickened his pace and at the same time offered a
silent prayer. Desperately hoping the woman was not seriously ill, he redoubled
his efforts and closed the distance between them.

He’d almost drawn alongside
when he felt a crunch under his boot. He looked down and saw a broken pile of
glass shards. A mote of clear liquid surrounded a tiny crystal island.  The
water evaporated, leaving just sparkling glass. Patterson had time to form a
brief frown before another thunderous cough sounded. Quickly, he turned his
attention back to the ailing woman and continued his pursuit. And, as he drew
near, he forgot about the shattered vial he had left behind.

Chapter
Thirteen

Like a large, soulless eye, the barrel of the shotgun
looked upon Squirrel and
Alice
with dangerous intent. Levelled at their heads, the
weapon pinned them to the rear of their newly appointed cell. Behind the
shotgun stood a raggedly dressed figure that was all bones and pale flesh. The
gun-bearer’s face was a craggy range of harsh cheekbones, pointed nose and
hollowed eyes. Engorged lips cut this ragged valley of flesh in two and, below
the red pout, a pointed chin jutted down like a pale, bony stalagmite. The lips
parted, causing the protrusions of flesh to shift in opposite directions.

“Stay there,” a weedy voice
ordered.

“Okay, okay,” Squirrel said,
raising his hands high. “Just don’t shoot us, okay?”

The gun-bearer shuffled
backwards, leaving half of his tattered shoes before him. He looked down at the
white bony nubs protruding through the rags that bound his feet. “Yum, yum,” he
said. He stared at the pitiful scraps of flesh and bone that were his exposed
toes. His mouth opened wide and two streams of saliva dripped from elongated
canines. The vampire looked up, grinned crookedly, and then repeated, “Yum,
yum.”

“Christ …” Squirrel moaned.

The vampire stayed fixed in
place for a moment with the shotgun pointed out. Then, quickly passing through
the open cell door, he used a spider-like hand to swing the barrier shut. The
iron door closed with a heavy clang. He pulled a bunch of keys from his
waistband. He struggled for a second before finding the correct one. With exaggerated
care he slid the key inside the lock and twisted the mechanism home. He looked
up and peered slyly through the bars. His blood-filled lips opened and a white
tongue ran the length of his bottom lip.

“Yum, yum.”

Pleased now that his captives
were secure, the vampire shuffled away from the cell to take position by one of
the open windows. He shoved the barrel of the shotgun through the bars then
rattled it noisily. A cacophony of howls erupted from outside.

“Bang! Bang!” he taunted
crazily.

The noise outside increased
to an almost deafening pitch.

The insane vampire continued
to tease the wolf pack before turning his attention back inside. The howling
ceased. It was replaced instead by the continuous shriek of wind. He shuffled
towards a table and chair. He pulled back the chair and then fell heavily into
it. There, he sat breathless for a moment, before his head turned towards his
two prisoners.

“Safe and sound,” he said,
through parted red lips. He sat rooted to his seat, unmoving. His head slumped
forwards after a couple of minutes of silence. Minutes dragged by, yet he did
not move an inch.

Squirrel looked upon his
captor’s face. Impenetrable shadows fell across its hollow eyes, which made it
impossible for the mechanic to tell if the vampire’s eyes were open or not.
Finally, a rhythmic wheeze escaped from the vampire’s lips, signalling a deep
sleep.

Squirrel turned to
Alice
and
whispered, “We need to get out of here.”

“Really?”
Alice
mocked.

“Be quiet,” Squirrel warned.

“Why? Look at him. He’s dead
to the world.”

As if on cue, the vampire’s
chin fell onto his chest. His wheezing deepened, now sounding like a ruptured
gas pipe.

Alice
scanned the cell, from one corner to the next. She
found only firmly fixed iron bars.

Squirrel stretched his leg
out, testing the makeshift bandage to his thigh. One of his pant legs stopped
just short of his knee, and the torn material had been wrapped tightly around
his thigh to cover the wolf bite. He caught
Alice
looking for a way out. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’d
better do something soon or we’ll probably wish we were back outside with the
wolves.”

“What?”

“If he doesn’t shoot us then
he’s definitely gonna eat us,” she told him.

“What do you mean …
eat?
”

“Squirrel, look at him. He’s
just skin and bones.”

“Where the hell did he come
from?”

Alice
turned her head away from Squirrel and for a second
time she examined her surroundings. This time though, her examination took her
beyond the thick metal bars. The jailhouse was a simple stone building that
consisted of four walls, all at ninety degrees to each other. The front wall
had three windows, all at shoulder level. Vertical bars, scratched and pitted,
kept the wolves out.

The vampire sat against the
wall opposite. A single gas lamp glowed weakly from the centre of the table,
its tendrils of yellow light barely spreading beyond a five-foot radius.
Alice
’s
handgun lay within easy reach of the vampire. Scattered about the fiend’s feet
were empty food packets and tin cans. All had been licked dry. Behind the
vampire and fixed to the wall above was a wooden rack of empty pegs. A single,
rusty key hung from one peg, its bearer now long dead, or worse, sleeping
directly underneath. The wall at the rear was simply a brick obstruction. No
windows. No door. No distinguishable features at all. The wall at
Alice
’s back
was much the same, impenetrable from outside and from inside.

The chipped and broken
concrete that surrounded some of the bars on the outside of the windows became
suddenly apparent. “Christ, they’ve been trying to get in,”
Alice
proclaimed.

Squirrel nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, looks like our sleeping beauty has been the only thing on the menu for
quite some time.”

“Until we came along, that
is,”
Alice
added.

“Right,” Squirrel agreed.

“So what do you think his
intensions are?”

“Not sure.”

“Guess we’ll find out, sooner
or later. Because for now, we ain’t going anywhere.”

“Right,” Squirrel agreed,
again.

Chapter
Fourteen

She opened her eyes to find a small, curious face
looking back at her. The woman raised herself up from the cot. A young girl was
stood at her bedside. “What do you want?” the woman asked.

The girl missed the other’s
cold tone. “You’re pretty.” She reached out and ran her grimy fingers through
the woman’s long her.

“It has its price,” the woman
said, and she flicked her dark hair behind her shoulder. The girl stared back
blankly, and the woman laughed despite herself. The kid was pretty underneath
all that grime. The woman said, “One day you’ll understand. Being pretty is a
burden to be sure.”

The young girl understood
that something of importance had been said. She nodded her head and echoed, “To
be sure.”

The woman laughed again - a
quick, brutal sound. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Rebecca,” she answered. “And
I ain’t a kid. I’m eleven soon.”

“Eleven? You’ll be breaking
hearts in no time,” the woman said, a harsh grin splitting her face.

“What’s
your
name?”
Rebecca asked.

“My name is Sarah.”

“Sarah …” the girl repeated.

Looking around her, the woman
asked, “Where am I?”

“You’re sick,” Rebecca
explained.

“Sick?”

“Yes. You’ve got the cold.”

“The cold?”

“Hi-poo-therm-e-a,” Rebecca
enunciated.

“What?”

“The doctor said you had
hi-poo-therm-e-a.”

“What doctor?” Sarah asked,
now interested in the conversation.

“The one that came with you.”

“Are you sure?” she asked,
with keen interest.

“Yes. He said he’d come on
the truck too.”

“Right – good,” she said,
noticeably relieved. She lay back and rested her head on a flattened and
out-of-shape pillow.

After watching the woman
intently for a while, Rebecca opened her mouth to speak. “You’re not like the
others, are you?”

Sarah bolted off the pillow.
“What did you just say?” she asked, her eyes darting nervously from one side of
the room to the next.

The area was empty. Just two
bare beds occupied the space around them. Rebecca stared back silently.

“What did you say?” she
repeated. A mixture of urgency and venom had formed her words into verbalised
poison.

“Nothing …” the girl mumbled,
now realising she had said something wrong.

“Speak – child, what did you
just say?” Sarah demanded.

Rebecca reared away, as if
she’d expected the woman’s words to physically strike her face. “Nothing,” she
mumbled, close to tears.

“Come, child, no need to be
scared,” Sarah soothed in false encouragement.

She sat upright then, swinging
her legs over the side of the bed. Rebecca took a step back. “Easy – easy,”
Sarah said. She reached out. Rebecca stopped. The young girl stood and watched
as elongated fingers drew closer. Her mind screamed out, telling her to move,
but her legs were rooted to the floor. She didn’t understand exactly why she
felt the urgency to get away, but something deep down within her soul told her
to run - run and never look back. But she didn’t. Instead, she became
transfixed by the woman’s
fingers. They touched her cheek. The
connection caused her head to snap back, as if a thousand volts had struck her.
She staggered, rocked by the sharp pain to her face. Reaching up, she expected
to find the bones of her face exposed. But her fingers touched a jowl of healthy
flesh. As if her brain needed double reassurance, her fingers lingered at her
face, and only after the burning stopped did the hand pull itself away. Two
teardrops slipped down her cheeks.

Sarah smiled, but the
expression was devoid of any warmth or compassion. As her lips peeled back, her
teeth revealed themselves: straight, white and perfectly formed. Her teeth
looked as if some sort of perfectionist creator had chiselled them into shape.
Most of them had been - created by some unknown entity. Yet four of her teeth
had been formed by a human hand, and altered from their original lethal
appearance.

Sarah slipped off the bed.
She stood directly in front of the young girl. Her hand moved towards the
beating pulse at Rebecca’s throat. Her fingers parted and, like an inescapable
net, the snare closed in on its prey.

“Hey, you’re awake!” someone
said unexpectedly.

Sarah turned her attention
away from the girl’s inviting throat and looked instead upon the arrival of
three newcomers.

The figure in the centre smiled.
“Good, you’re awake,” Patterson said, eagerly.

In a rerun of their first
encounter, the Major stood in the centre of the small group. To his left stood
the young man with the machinegun, although this time the weapon was hanging
from his shoulder by a strap - yet still within reach. The holy man had been
replaced by the doctor. Standing on the Major’s right, he looked nervous and on
edge. They reached the side of the bed and Major Patterson placed a hand gently
on the young girl’s head.

The girl almost jumped out of
her skin. She gasped, instantly freed from her invisible bonds. Her head turned
and she looked up at the old leader through tear-stricken eyes. She opened her
mouth to offer a warning. Her small lungs hitched with a silent caution. The words
were stuck deep down. Unable to voice her concern, she instead tried to push
the Major away from the woman.

“I see you’ve met Rebecca,”
Patterson said, missing the girl’s obvious fear. “Hey – it’s okay, you’re safe
now, there is nothing to be scared of here.”

The girl managed to prize
herself free. She scampered away from the group and disappeared through the
open doorway. The group stood in silence for a moment, listening as her hollow
footsteps faded away.

“She’s new here,” Patterson
explained. “And I think she had it bad before we rescued her. We found her with
her mother, dead, tied to a tree. Sad.”

“Such a pretty little thing,”
the woman said, her face twisted into a false look of affection.

“She is indeed,” Patterson
agreed. He gave her a quick smile, but his eyes betrayed an internal unease.

Sarah sensed his anxiety, and
was surprised to find herself disappointed by such a weakness. She had expected
the ruler of these humans to at be strong-willed. Instead, the guy that stood
before her was simply a broken middle-aged fool. And, she’d have ended his
misery right there and then had it not been for the young man at his side. For,
although the machinegun was of little concern, something intense and dangerous
lurked just beneath the surface of his eyes.

He was handsome without
doubt; even the angry gash across his cheek could not diminish his beauty. If
anything, the single flaw only helped to accentuate the rest of his striking
features. There was something both alluring and formidable about this man. They
made eye contact and the young man frowned slightly, not with puzzlement, but
with something more like recognition.

The doctor broke the silence.
“So you feel much better?”

She turned her attention away
from the handsome gun-bearer. “A lot better, thanks.”

“You were lucky we found you
when we did,” the doctor said. “You were close to suffering from chronic
hypothermia. Had we not found you, you’d have probably died within days, maybe
hours. That’s not to mention the chance of recapture.”

“Recapture?” Patterson began.
“You managed to escape from one of …” – he paused, anxiety increasing - “…
these breeding camps?”

“Yes,” Sarah replied.

“How?”

“It was easy, really. I had
help.”

“Help?” Patterson asked.
“From whom?”

“Your daughter …”