The Comanche Vampire (16 page)

A
dozen heartbeats thumped into his consciousness.
 
On top of it, he still smelled fresh blood
and damned if he didn’t almost taste it.
  
To cover his agitation, he asked, “What’s
your job?”

“This
is registration.
 
Once I’ve greeted the
donors, I hand them a medical form to complete, help them if they need it, then
send them to the next table.” Anne sketched out each step of the procedure. Ned
half-listened but when she described what happened to the pints of blood once the
donor finished, he paid close attention.
 
He studied the activities and watched.
 
Once the bags were removed, a volunteer sealed them, then someone else
labeled them with blood type and placed them in coolers.
 
Once full, another helper carried the
containers away.
 
On the way in, Ned had
noticed a truck outside and speculated the blood must end up there.
 
It probably went to a blood bank or hospital
afterward.

The
idea of a fresh supply of blood fascinated him.
 
If he could keep a bag or two on hand, he’d be well-fixed.
 
I
wonder how long it keeps and if it turns bad.
 
Ned interrupted Anne with his question, “How
long does the blood last?”

Surprise
widened her eyes. “What?”

“I
wondered how long the donated blood lasts, how long it’s still good.”

Anne
stared at him, her mouth tight. “Uh, I don’t know right off, but I saw it on
one of the brochures.” She flipped through a stack of papers and pulled out a
flyer.
 
Ned watched as she perused it
until she found an answer. “Well, it depends.
 
Looks like about seven days on average if nothing’s done to it, no
additives or anything separated out and that’s if it’s kept refrigerated.
 
Once it’s been processed fully, somewhere
around 40 days.
 
Why?”

Too
late, Ned realized he’d asked a strange question.
 
He tried to make his interest plausible.
“Just curious,” he said. “It seems like a lot of people are donating and I just
hoped none of it would be wasted.”

“I
doubt it will be.
 
There are a lot of
reasons why people get transfusions, not just blood loss.
 
I would suppose most of it gets used before
it expires.”

“I
hope so,” he said.
 

Anne
stared at him then shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes you’re interested in the
weirdest things, Ned.”
 

 
He couldn’t think of any response so he
nodded.
 
Ned watched Anne all morning but
by eleven-thirty, he couldn’t focus on anything but blood.
 
He fidgeted with restless energy.
 
Ned tried to figure out how he might snag a
pint or trail a donor to some secluded spot without witnesses, as his craving
became urgent need.
 
About the time he
started to feel punk, Anne leaned over and put her hand on his knee. “Hey, are
you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

Ned
managed a weak smile and used the excuse he’d given her before more than once.
“I’ve got another headache.”
 
“Aw,” she
told him. Anne’s sympathy for his lie cut his spirit sharper than a knife. “I’m
sorry. I think I’ve got some aspirin in my purse.”

“Thanks
but I think I’ll walk outside, clear my head a little.” He’d watched the
proceedings long enough he figured he’d offer to carry out one of the little
coolers packed with blood pints.
 
Then Ned
planned to grab one on the sly, drink what he could, and ditch it.
 
He’d be fine after that. Anne scrutinized him
in silence.

“All
right but if you need anything, let me know or if you want to go home, tell
me.”

“I
will, honey.” His fingers brushed against her cheek but before he could say
anything more, two donors approached.
 
Anne turned to them and he headed across the room.
 
After a glance back to make sure Anne’s
attention wasn’t on him, Ned paused and asked the volunteer closing down a full
cooler if he could carry it out.
 
The
slender student beamed. “That’d be great.
 
Thanks.
 
The truck’s right out the
rear doors and to the left.”

“I
saw it on my way in.” Ned hefted the container and moved with speed down the
hallway.
 
Although unfamiliar with the
building’s layout, he located the exit.
 
Outside, he stepped into the rain and ducked around a corner into a
cinderblock trash corral.
 
Ned lifted the
lid, seized a pint of blood and tucked it beneath his jacket.
 
Then he shut the cooler and delivered it to the
truck.
 

Despite
the sleet mixing with the heavy rain showers, Ned darted out to his truck.
 
He climbed into the cab and used his pocket
knife to open one of the tubes.
 
As the
aroma wafted into his face, Ned drank from the container.
 
Still warm, a bit salty, and full-bodied, the
blood sent tingles through his veins.
 
He
shuddered with the life force it provided and he drank over half before he
stopped.
 
That’s easier than biting someone but it doesn’t feel right.
 
It’s unnatural, somehow.
 
Then Ned paused.
 
Being undead was unnatural and a need to feed
on blood was wrong, but he’d been quibbling about sipping donated Type O.
 
Ironic and more than a little silly, he
thought.

He
considered drinking the rest but he lacked capacity. The bag’s faint lingering
warmth repulsed him and made him uneasy.
 
Ned lit a smoke to calm down and after he smoked half, he crushed out
the butt.
 
The rain had become all sleet
by the time he stepped down from the cab, half-drained pint in his hands.
 
He couldn’t carry it back into the building
and he didn’t see a trash basket so he tossed it into the bed of his truck for
now.
 
It lay beside other junk, a few
aluminum cans, empty plastic bags, a toolbox and some driftwood.
 
He shifted a sack over to cover it and
decided it’d do.
 
No one would notice
with the weather anyway.

Ned
slipped back into the building and sat down near Anne.
 
When she glanced up, she smiled. “How’s your
head?”

He
smiled at her. “Better, now.”

“That’s
good,” she said and then grimaced. “You’re soaking wet. Is it raining?”

“It’s
changed over to sleet now.” He shivered, the warmth of the blood he’d drank
fading once it spread through his body. “And it’s turned colder too.”

Anne
touched his braid. “Even your hair’s wet. Ned, you need to get into something
dry.”

“I’m
good.” He’d ridden many miles in worse weather and been far more drenched.
 
Nor would he catch cold or get sick.
 
Being undead had a few advantages.

“No,
you’re not. If you don’t want to go home, head over to my apartment and dry
off. Take a shower and warm up, toss your wet things in the dryer.
 
I’ll be here a couple more hours and then
home.”

He
protested, but she fussed until he agreed.
 
She handed him her key and when he reached out to take it, Anne gasped.
“You’re bleeding.
 
Did you cut your
hand?”

Ned
glanced down to see crimson smears along his left hand.
 
He’d managed to slop some of the blood from
the bag onto his hand. “I don’t know,” he said as he jerked it back. “It’s just
a little blood. It’ll wash off.”

When
he rose, she did too.
 
Anne faced him and
touched the corner of his mouth with her little finger. “There’s blood on your
mouth, too.
 
Are you all right, Ned?”

“Yeah,
I’m fine.”

“You
don’t act like yourself. Maybe I’ll see if I can get someone else to take over
here so I’ll go with you.”

“You
don’t have to do that, Anne.” He’d rather she didn’t at the moment.
 
 

“I
know.” Her fingers stroked his cheek. “But I want to.
 
Go on to my place and I’ll be there as soon
as I can.”

“All
right, honey.”

He
brushed his lips across hers in a half-assed kiss, the best he dared in front
of her fellow faculty members and students.
 
At her place, he shucked off his wet clothes, tossed them in the dryer,
and took a long, steamy shower.
 
Ned
thought he’d make coffee when he finished and wait for Anne, and then maybe
they’d make love.

But
when he came out of the bedroom naked, Anne waited.
 
In her hand, she held the half-drained pint
of blood he’d taken, the one from the back of his truck and Ned halted.

“Do
you want to explain this to me?” Her harsh tone made her sound hoarse. “Ned,
what’s going on?”

Like
any man in trouble, he stalled for time. “Let me get dressed, Anne, and I’ll
tell you.”

“No,”
Anne said, spitting out the word like a bad piece of meat. “I want to hear it
now.”

Ned
straightened his back.
 
The time he
dreaded had come and he’d tell her the truth.

Chapter Eight

He
faced her, bare ass naked, without weapon or defense.
 
Love provided Anne all the power in this
encounter.
 
She thrust the half empty
container at him again. “Well? Why is this in your truck and why’s it half
empty? Did you take it?”

“I
did.”

Anne’s
features crumpled. “Why, Ned? I don’t understand.
 
And what happened to the blood?”

The
moment he’d avoided for months had arrived and so, without any more efforts to
tell tales, Ned spoke the truth. “I drank it because I’m a vampire.”

Color
ebbed out of her face.
 
Her eyes widened
with surprise then narrowed.
 
Something
sparkled in their depths and Ned thought he recognized both anger and fear.
“This isn’t a time to joke.
 
That’s not
funny.”

“It’s
not supposed to be.” He summoned up a quiet dignity from deep inside and hung
onto it to stay calm. “It’s the truth, Anne.”

“Bullshit.”
Her voice snapped like cheap gum.
 
He’d
never heard her use the phrase before. “Vampires don’t exist. I don’t know
what’s gotten into you today, Ned.
 
Why
did you take this?”

“I
needed the blood.”

Her
eyes glittered like brown ice, hard and cold. “So, because you’re a vampire,
you stole a bag of donated blood from the American Red Cross.
 
Why didn’t you drink it all, then?”

“It’s
more than I needed.” Her anger flared between them, a living force with the
force of summer lightning so he tried to deflect it with calm words.
 
“Anne, I’m
Pea’hocso
.
 
I’m a Comanche warrior, or I was, before.”

“Don’t,
Ned. Just don’t.
 
I can’t listen to this
nonsense.” Her hands convulsed into fists and she squeezed the bag.
 
Blood spurted from the open end and
splattered her fingers.
 
Anne dropped the
back and stared at her skin with horror.
 
Then she began to weep aloud, her sobs strong enough to wrack her
body.
 
As Ned watched, she dropped to her
knees, hands outstretched.
 
Blood oozed
onto her carpet from the discarded container and when she noticed, she cried
harder.

He
acted on instinct.
 
Ned stepped to the
kitchen, wet a clean towel and knelt before Anne.
 
He dabbed at the streaks of blood and
although he thought she might try to fight him, Anne didn’t resist.
 
She kept crying, though.
 
He talked to her the way he would gentle an
untamed mare, his voice level and low.
 
Until she interrupted him in English, Ned hadn’t noticed he spoke
Comanche.
 
“Ned, please.”

“Please
what?”

“I
can’t follow what you’re saying.” Anne’s voice broke and she buried her face in
her hands to sob.
 
“I don’t understand.”

Ned
tossed aside the towel and hauled her into his arms.
 
He carried her over to the sofa and sat down.
“Anne, I’m sorry.
 
I know you’re angry
with me…”

“Only
because you’re talking crazy,” she wept. “I don’t know what to think.
 
Either you’re out of your mind and need help
or you’re trying to be funny, but it’s not amusing.
 
If you really think you’re a vampire, you
have some serious issues.
 
And if you’re
playing a joke on me, you’re mean.
 
I
don’t know which would be worse, mean or insane.”