Tears of No Return (9 page)

The one person she could count on for anything had come through, even with the way she treated her. How could she take the woman’s money and car and at the same time potentially leave her defenseless against killer agents? She had to warn her.

Facing Melanie, she said, “Some men might come looking for me.”

“What? Who? The mob?” Melanie was clearly baffled by Karen’s revelation.

“No,” Karen said. “Nothing like that.” Melanie was shaking now, frightened according to her body language and expression. Karen took the woman’s hands into her own. “These are really, really bad people—dangerous.” Now, Karen was looking into her friend’s eyes, making sure Melanie knew how serious the situation was. “I didn’t want to get you involved. That’s why I didn’t call. I was afraid they might be listening.”

“How am I involved?” Melanie asked, her eyebrows bunched together.

“By my coming here.” Karen felt frustrated. The more she thought about it, the more she chastised herself for endangering her friend. She pulled her hands away, balling them into fists, and stepped back. “They might think I told you something.”

“But you didn’t.” Melanie went to take a step forward, stopping abruptly when Karen stiffened.

“The men that are after me…they’re military, some secret branch. It’s only a matter of time before they find me. They’ll pick up on the call the paramedics made.”

Again, tears filled Karen’s eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to stem the flow. She felt her cheek tickle as a single drop made its way down her face. Melanie motioned her over again. “Don’t come near me,” Karen shouted. She jumped back and wiped away the tear.

Melanie looked worried.

“I’m not on drugs,” Karen said, in response to Melanie’s accusation.

“I never said you were.”

“I just heard you.”

“You’re scaring me, Karen.”

“There, you just said it again. And you want to call the paramedics back.”

Melanie brought her hands to her chest. “What the hell is going on, Karen? How do you know what I’m thinking?”

Karen realized the gift was working again. Melanie hadn’t said anything about drugs or the paramedics, but her friend had certainly been thinking it. Deciding she better talk, Karen sat Melanie down and told her friend everything that had happened. If Melanie was at risk, as Karen most likely had made her so, then she deserved to know the truth.

At its conclusion, the conversation didn’t go as Karen had hoped. Melanie stood up and began pacing the room. “Okay, I get it. You bitch. I’m on television, aren’t I?”

Karen’s frustration doubled. She needed Melanie to understand—and quickly. Time was running out.

“Pick four consecutive numbers,” Karen said, hoping the gift would stay active so she could prove her point. “But don’t say them out loud.”

Melanie looked at her quizzically.

“Mel, please, just do it.” A shiver went through Karen’s body as she heard the numbers in Melanie’s head, the woman’s mouth remaining sealed.

“Six, nine, two, and seven,” Karen said.

“No, that’s impossible,” Melanie said, shaking her head. “Bullshit. Try again.”

“Five, three, four, two,” Karen said. Melanie’s face went white as her eyes widened in disbelief.

“How the hell are you doing that?”

“I told you. I was infected with some alien substance.” Melanie was silent, but Karen could hear the woman’s thoughts. “Bullshit” and “what’s going on?” kept repeating over and over inside Melanie’s head. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true.”

“I must be dreaming.” Melanie said, standing up.

“No, this is real and I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Can you leave the city for a while? Hide out until this blows over?”

Karen wondered if it would ever be safe again for her or anyone she knew—co-workers, ex-boyfriends, even the desk clerk in her or Melanie’s building. With enough time, maybe she could lead the military away from the city and Melanie could go on with her life.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Melanie’s face got some of its color back. She was finally accepting the situation.

“Yes, it’s real.”

“I’ll go to my mom’s upstate.”

“No, go somewhere where nobody will be able to find you. And don’t use your phone. Get a new one.” Karen wanted to hug her friend, but with tears threatening her at any moment she didn’t dare. It was amazing how much she needed human contact, even the simplest kind.

Melanie agreed, and together they packed bags. She would call in to work, say a relative was sick and she was taking the vacation time she’d accrued. Melanie had about a thousand dollars in cash in her apartment and gave it all to Karen.

“Sorry I don’t have more.”

“This is fine,” Karen said, grateful for the money. Satisfied that she wouldn’t cry, Karen embraced her friend quickly, taking in the touch of another and the warmth that came with friendship. “I’ll call you when I can.”

With that, Karen left the apartment.

Chapter 10

Morgan took a cab out
of the city and headed to the outskirts of Poughkeepsie. He had the driver drop him off at the beginning of Route 9, a two-lane, heavily-traveled back road that connected the Newburgh-Beacon area to Poughkeepsie. From there he decided to walk, feeling comfortable with the prospect of not running into any hunters or vampires. He was heading for the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, or as the residents in Beacon called it, the
Beacon-Newburgh
Bridge. Route 9 emptied out just before the bridge, on the Beacon side.

The small town of Salisbury Mills was the first place Morgan would likely begin his vacation. It was only a forty-five minute drive from Poughkeepsie and quaint; at least from what he remembered of it, having passed through the hamlet only a few times before.

From there, or somewhere near there, he would work his way toward Manhattan and obtain new vampire contacts as well as work on lowering their population before seeing where his travels took him next. But that was thinking too far ahead. First, he would enjoy his time, undisturbed, and stay in some rural place with a lesser population and soak up some rays; perhaps even go for a swim in one of the local lakes or rivers.

If Salisbury Mills didn’t have lodging, then Washingtonville or Chester—both small towns but more metropolitan—would be suitable to his needs and far enough away that he wouldn’t have to worry about hunters, especially the Morses. He grinned, thinking about them. They were going to be baffled and likely more than a little upset when they returned to the alley to collect their lances and possibly some of Morgan’s remains—hunters often kept mementos of their prized kills—only to find no vampire leftovers. Then they’d be hell-bent on finding him.

After a brief
rest
in one of the small towns, while traveling to and eventually through Manhattan, Morgan would ask around and see if any of the supernatural beings he came across knew anything about the Murphy Unit.

Whatever the case, his new journey would be a fresh beginning. He’d had numerous new starts, moving from city to city, lowering the vampire population, but he wanted more out of life. Finding the priest who changed him was his ultimate goal, and locating the Murphy Unit, or at least its members, seemed like the first step in doing so.

The time was coming upon nine p.m., still early, but Morgan was growing bored with walking. He could easily do the twenty or so miles, but why waste the night when he could be relaxing in some bar with a few beers. And there was always the possibility that some drunk or careless driver would hit him. It would take a lot more than a car wreck to stop him, but damage added up, and without knowing where any vampires might be, he had to rely on what was in his system until he reached Manhattan. That city was crawling with bloodsuckers.

Morgan stuck his thumb out. He figured the well-traveled road which connected the two urban areas would be an easy place to hitchhike.

Fifteen minutes later, he found himself in a car with a man named Ted. Ted was around sixty, Morgan guessed. Gray hair surrounded his head like a cotton halo. Ted wore thick glasses that made his pupils look like pencil points.

“Where are you heading?” Ted asked.

“Little town outside of Newburgh.”

“Name?”

“Salisbury Mills,” Morgan decided. Washingtonville and Chester were small, but Salisbury Mills was a spec on a map compared to those places. He hoped they had a bar or at least a bed and breakfast. He’d been through the town twice before and if his memory served him correctly, it had been a town consisting of a firehouse, post office, and general store. But by now, the town must’ve grown and surely had lodgings.

Ted nodded. “I’m going to Middletown, passing through Newburgh. I can take you that far.”

“Sounds just fine,” Morgan said, grinning.

Morgan liked Ted. He seemed like a genuine fellow, an old-timer with an old-time view of the world. Through conversation, he found out that Ted didn’t own much in the way of electronic gadgets. The man simply didn’t believe in them. He’d never even owned a cell phone or understood what an Mp3 player was. He had cable television, but only watched history and nature documentaries, and the nightly news—which he believed was designed to scare people.

The unlit stretch of road with thick forest on either side was a welcomed sight. Morgan had grown tired of the city. Garbage, sidewalks, hustle and bustle, car horns, and sirens could even drive a supernatural being like himself crazy.

But cities were where Morgan belonged. They were his forest, full of wildlife that he could feed on while performing the task he was designed for.

He sat back calmly as Ted went on about his grandkids and how much he enjoyed spending time with them, the devils that they were.

Morgan thanked the man after being let off at Newburgh, where he quickly hitched a ride with a kid coming home from college. Morgan hadn’t hitchhiked since the 1980s and, like so many others, took to the notion that no one really did it anymore. After receiving two rides relatively quickly between one another, he guessed the world was still as foolish as ever.

The kid, Jerold, was traveling home to Warwick, taking Route 94 which led straight through Salisbury Mills. He had lived in Orange County his whole life and knew most of the towns well, telling Morgan what Morgan already knew: that Salisbury Mills consisted of a firehouse, general store, post-office and an old railroad bridge missing its tracks. But on the outskirts of the town, along Route 94, was a restaurant with a bar. There was no hotel or bed and breakfast. Five miles up the road was Washingtonville, another small town, but much more current, with banks, convenience stores, fast food restaurants, a library, and even a small hotel.

The kid dropped Morgan off outside the bar, an Irish pub called O’Hulahans. Funny, but he’d never seen the name spelled like it was. He thanked Jerold for the ride and gave him a twenty for gas.

Morgan glanced at the dashboard clock before Jerold drove off. Just after 10:30. With the wait between rides and the hour long journey, Morgan thought he did well—not that he had a schedule to follow.

He didn’t feel like walking to Washingtonville to check into a hotel yet and decided that a cold beer would be refreshing. He’d worry about where to sleep later.

Chapter 11

Karen made it out of the city by nine. An accident on the Throgs Neck Bridge was her only delay. After that, the ride was smooth sailing, except for the numerous and horrible thoughts bouncing around in her head. She feared having another attack, unsure if the alien substance was still working its way into her system, but she had no choice and ventured onward.

She drove north, taking Route 287 to the N.Y. State Thruway. She tried listening to music during the ride, but found every song she came across, even ones she liked, only added to her anxiety. The quiet hum of the tires on asphalt was better.

It wasn’t easy keeping her foot on the gas pedal, leaving her life behind. She desperately wanted to call Melanie; simply to hear her friend’s voice and not feel so alone. Her mind wandered. She kept seeing Agent McKlintock shooting at her, and Josh’s face screaming in agony as his flesh melted away. Had she ruined her best friend’s life, too? Was her own life over?

She needed to relax and knew how important it was that she remained calm, clear-headed. Things were going to be different; not forever, she hoped, but at least for a while, and presently there wasn’t a thing she could do about it except flee. She swore to herself, not certain she believed her own thoughts, that she would reclaim her world or at least some semblance of what had been.

Everyone and everything she knew had to be left behind. Karen had been reduced to so little in such a short amount of time. She’d lost her freedom, job, money, friends, and things she probably hadn’t even considered yet. But she had to remain positive and hold onto whatever she could in order to keep fighting to survive.

She wanted to cry, feeling like she might go mad if she didn’t, so she did. Her hazardous tears flowed. Then speaking aloud, she told herself to stop; she needed to be strong, and crying could lead to other people getting hurt. In no way could she risk infecting anyone else.

Karen noticed her speed had decreased to forty miles an hour and pressed down on the gas pedal. Going below forty was like waving a red flag and asking to be pulled over by a state trooper; the minimum speed limit posted at forty-five.

Done with the tears, Karen was in control of herself again. And just as she began feeling better, less severe pains wracked her skull. She noticed a sign for a rest stop and hoped to make it there before a full-on attack.

She would dread having to pull onto the side of the road and pass out only to wake up with a statie’s face staring down at her. Or worse, have her name reported over the wire, alerting the agents to her location.

She held on as the pain worsened, keeping her foot steady on the gas pedal and the wheel straight. Her vision began to blur from the ache, but she managed to pull off the highway via the rest stop’s ramp and into a parking spot as the pain overwhelmed her.