What Happens in the Darkness (18 page)

The three dead guards finally began to stir.

Patrick realized he had tripled the odds against him, that the enemy soldiers would probably be as unpredictable as Natasha had been. And there was no reason to believe she wasn’t the norm, that her disloyal, erratic behavior was simply the way enemy vampires would act. Vampires being fiercely loyal, he believed his new group, changed by the blood pulsing through
Patrick’s
veins, would be loyal to
him
. This was the way it was supposed to work. He had to hope he was right about that.

They slowly struggled into sitting or kneeling positions, each examining his or her body for the source of blood covering their clothing and their skin.

“What happened?” one of the men asked, unfastening the Velcro closures of his flak jacket. He brushed his spiky black hair with his palm. His round Asian face was strikingly pale in the moonlight, his almond-shaped eyes red-rimmed, crimson slits.

“You speak English,” Patrick said.

The soldier nodded. “We all do. Part of the training for the Global Dominion.” He glanced at the other soldiers and shook his head. “Some of us are better at it.” He barely had an accent.

“Names.”

“Rank and—”

“Just names,” Patrick said. “And where you’re from. I don’t care about your rank.”

“Kem Lee. China.”

“Narin,” the woman said. “Korea.”

The third soldier looked up from the ground. “Amdallah Sayed. Saudi Arabia. People call me Sayed.”

Patrick told them his name and then said, “My children … each of you has been given a gift, a most special gift. You have been reborn into life eternal.”

They exchanged glances and smiled, powder-white teeth reflecting the starlight.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Patrick said, squatting beside them. “Tell me how much I mean to you!” He pointed at Kem. “Tell me how much you love me.”

Kem took Patrick’s hand and held it to his cheek. “I would die for you,” he whispered, nearly falling flat because of his weakened state. “You have given me life. You are my god!”

Narin and Sayed did the same, clutching at Patrick’s arms or caressing his boots.

Patrick was pleased with this conversion.

He hid them in an abandoned apartment complex, leaving them in the windowless laundry room in the basement. The rest of the night he spent gathering his fresh kills, increasing the numbers in his small army, bringing them back to the laundry room as well.

About an hour before sunup he instructed them all to rest, telling them to remain in hiding, although he knew it was instinctual to rest during the day and avoid sunlight at all costs. He put Kem in charge of the group.

“But where are you going?” Kem asked, his small eyes troubled. “Why are you leaving us?”

“I’ll be back. I have a few things I need to take care of. Just obey me, Kem, don’t question me. You have to trust that I’ll come back.”

Kem nodded and sighed.

“Don’t let them out of this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes. As you wish.”

“For anything, Kem. They’re not to leave. Not to take a piss, not to get a drink.”

“A piss?”

“A joke, Kem. Since we no longer need—never mind. Just do as I say.”

Patrick faced the rest of the group. “Kem is in charge. You will do
exactly
as he says. Any questions?”

None.

“Get some rest. Under no circumstances are you to leave this room. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and you’ll all feed then. Is this clear?”

It was clear.

Later Patrick would ditch Narin and Amdallah when they became too unstable. Kem, however, would prove to be a terrific right hand.

Patrick left, heading north once more, his internal clock telling him there were forty-five minutes left before sunrise. The trip back would only take ten. 

*** 

Janelle decided she was through with tunnels.

Train, river, canoe across the Hudson River—it didn’t matter. There had to be another way off the island of Manhattan. And with those—
whatevers
—running around the streets at night, there was no way she was staying there.

She found a ten-speed bike, which made traveling uptown from the Holland Tunnel a lot easier than walking. It was still dark, but she watched the sun creep up bit by bit.

The bike rode her quietly along avenues and side streets, and she carefully pedaled, avoiding signs of life, fearful of soldiers. The victims of the bombings littered the streets, and they were rotting away, more slowly than normal because of the cool temperatures, but the smell was thickening. Before the soldiers came, the survivors had attempted to move the bodies into piles, to store them in basements or build funeral pyres, but they hadn’t gotten far. Body parts jutted out from beneath fallen rubble as skyscrapers had toppled, piles of ground concrete and metal girders decorating the streets like enormous Tinker Toys.

Even worse, the number of soldiers seemed to be increasing; groups of them, huddled around campfires or resting in trucks, seemed to be everywhere. Janelle had hoped to be saved by the police or the army, but she saw dead cops and soldiers everywhere, even saw them being held as prisoners along with everyone else. There were just too many enemy soldiers to be able to fight and win.

In compound after compound, hundreds of prisoners were being herded into makeshift jails, their light clothing offering poor protection against the cold of early November.

Janelle wanted to help but knew she would be captured—or killed.

Screams in the night chilled her far worse than the late-fall air. Gunfire followed the screams, and Janelle cried out, afraid of the carnage, grateful she couldn’t see what was happening. She dropped the bike and crouched against a wall, her hands pushed against her ears, tears streaming down her face, her knees quivering.

She was so tired and so alone. She wanted this to be over.

A sudden noise made her jump. She peered around the corner of the building and saw yet another prisoner holding pen.

There was a terrible commotion as the guards, who seemed upset, exploded into frenetic activity, running everywhere at once, screaming into their walkie-talkies.

Janelle couldn’t make out what they were saying—there was too much static, too much jumbled yelling and shouting. The soldier with the radio kept jamming it under his chin, screaming into it, “Over! Repeat! Repeat! Over!” What she thought she understood was that they were under attack at a different location, and the other soldiers were screaming for help.

Truckloads of soldiers took off, uptown. The street signs here stated Madison Avenue and Eighteenth Street, although the signs were badly damaged and hanging by metal threads. This was a quiet area—had been once, anyway. Banks and offices had lined the streets where hollowed-out, annihilated shells of buildings now stood.

More soldiers disappeared on foot, leaving a half dozen or so behind to guard the small compound.

Janelle crept closer, hiding behind the one remaining truck.

The air crackled with radio static. The soldier stared at it like it was a lump of crap in his hand. “Should we kill them?” he asked the other soldiers. “Let’s just kill them! I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Shut the hell up and pull yourself together,” another soldier yelled, stepping up and grabbing the panicked man’s arm. “Take a deep breath or something.”

With shaking hands, the panicked guard grabbed a pack of smokes from his pocket, pulled one out, and spent several seconds trying to light it.

Another soldier finally grabbed the matches and lit the man’s cigarette for him. “Don’t be such a pussy,” he was told. “See? It’s quiet up there now. They have it under control. I’m sure they’ve—”

Screams and gunfire cut him off mid-sentence.

Three of the five remaining soldiers took off in the opposite direction, running downtown along the avenue, disappearing into Madison Square Park.

“Now where the fuck are they going?”

Two remained, including the high-strung soldier with the cigarette. “Maybe it’s a goddamn ambush. Maybe they drew everyone away and plan to attack!”

“Fuck you.
They
who? There is no
they
. We’re in command here. This is our land now!”

“We should do this,” he cried, smoke circling his head. “We should kill the prisoners and get the hell out of here. What if … what if it’s those monsters?”

“Those
what
?” He laughed, and leaned against the truck. “Oh, fuck you already! Yeah, right,
monsters
. Well if it’s monsters,
comrade
, we’ll blow their fucking heads off.”

“Regular bullets can’t kill them,” he said fiercely, throwing the cigarette down and crushing it beneath his heel. “That’s why they’ve been swapping out our bullets.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “Bullets can kill anything.”

“No. They say they’re vampires. They can only be killed with special wood bullets, or a wooden stake.”

“A stake?” He laughed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Through the heart. Haven’t you ever seen
Dracula
?”

He waved his hand and scowled. “I like Chuck Norris.”

The panicked soldier raised his Glock and aimed it at the crowd.

“No, goddammit, not yet! You’re gonna get us in deep shit if you do that.”

Janelle sneaked behind the soldiers and climbed into the back of the covered truck. The floor was littered with an assortment of guns, but she had no way of knowing if they worked, or how to use them. She picked up a gun that was almost as big as her. Checking it for ammo was out of the question. The only way to test it would be to fire it. And as much as they might deserve it, Janelle didn’t think she could kill anyone, not even the enemy.

Still, she might be able to scare them. Just long enough to free the prisoners. They didn’t have to know Janelle was clueless about guns.

She cautiously climbed back out of the truck with the enormous gun cradled in her arms. It weighed a ton. When she hit the ground, she hoisted it to shoulder level and crept up behind the soldiers.

Several prisoners spotted her but wisely remained quiet, although they did look rather worried at the size of their would-be rescuer.

“Freeze!” she screamed. “Hands up!”

The soldiers slowly raised their hands, and just as slowly turned to face their captor.

Tiny twelve-year-old Janelle, all of five feet, stared them down.
Crap
. What would Denzel do?

The high-strung guard began to laugh, and he dropped his gun to his side.

The other guard lowered his weapon as well.

“I’ll shoot you if I have to!” she cried, lip trembling, tears clouding her vision. “I don’t want to but I will!” She moved toward the prisoners, feeling for a lock. She found a padlock. “Give me the key!”

“Mmmm,” the panicked guard said, ignoring her, arms crossed over his chest. “You know how to fire one of those?”

“Yuh-yes. ’Course.”

He nodded and licked his lips. “Hard to fire with the safety on.”

Safety? No, he was bluffing … she’d seen too many TV shows. She knew he was trying to trick her. “Let them out,” she demanded. “And I won’t shoot you.”

Shaking his head, the calmer guard approached Janelle. She quickly aimed at his head and pulled the trigger—and nothing happened.

He plucked the gun from her hands and grabbed her by the hair. “I wasn’t lying,” he said with a smirk. “Little idiot.”

She screamed and punched at him.

“Knock it off!” he yelled, slapping her across the mouth, knocking her to the ground. She quickly climbed to her feet.

“Brave little nigger,” the nervous guard said. “Cute, too.”

“Keep it in your pants,
comrade
.”

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe
she
should shoot these prisoners.”

“That’s rotten, Demitri. But I love it. As soon as I’m done with her.”

Demitri laughed and shook his head. “First you call her a nigger, and now you wanna fuck her?”

The nervous guard shrugged and kicked Janelle’s feet out from under her, knocking her to the ground. She landed solidly on her tailbone and clamped painfully on her bottom lip, crying out in pain.

The prisoners began to scream as the guard lowered himself on top of the hysterical child, but Demitri smashed the butt of his gun into the fence, yelling for them to shut up.

“No,” Janelle cried, pushing at him, fighting his hands, trying to match his movements.

“Goddamn kid is fast,” he grunted, laughing. He pinned her hands above her head and began to fumble with the button on her jeans.

Sobbing, she closed her eyes, waiting for this to end.

Suddenly he was off her. It felt as if someone had yanked him away in one smooth movement.

When Janelle again opened her eyes, the two guards were lying dead by her feet, their bodies turned toward the ground, but their faces … their faces were turned the wrong way, looking impossibly back over their shoulders. Blood trickled from their noses and eyes and mouths.

First Janelle gasped and then she screamed.

A man dropped to the ground beside her while several other people freed the prisoners.

“We were watching you,” he said. His smile revealed pointy teeth. “You’re a brave little girl.”

She stared at him for a moment, surprised she hadn’t wet her pants. “What are you?” she asked, and then quickly added, “doing?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What are we
doing
?” He smiled warmly. “Rescuing prisoners, same as you. But is that what you really wanted to ask?”

Janelle studied her fingernails, shook her head. “What are you?” she asked quietly, eyes studying the ground.

“Don’t you know?”

She looked up at him and nodded. “I think so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Janelle.”

“Well Janelle, I’m Martin. I’m the leader of this group.”

“The leader? I didn’t know you guys had leaders. Or groups.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I prefer to think of it as head of the family.”

Janelle cocked her head. “I remember you from the bank vault the other day. You killed everyone there. Does this mean—are you gonna make me one now? A vampire?”