Something of the Night Page 7

  Most of the people before him shifted awkwardly as they fell under his steely gaze. Yet, as he looked upon the woman, he was met with a friendly nod. His weathered face folded itself into a warm smile.

  His face, however, then turned into a mask of surprise when the woman sprung suddenly forwards.

  The woman reached out with both hands. She lunged towards Major Patterson. Her hands fell short, though, and she collapsed instead to the floor. There, she began to twitch and thrash on the rocky surface. For a second nobody moved. Surprised by the unexpected movement.

  Father looked at the flutter of eyelids. “She’s having a fit.”

  One of the newcomers moved to help.

  “Hold it!” Daniel commanded, raising his machinegun threateningly.

  The would-be helper stopped dead.

  “Back in line,” Daniel ordered, stepping forwards to cover Major Patterson.

  Once Daniel had the small group held back, Father dropped to his knees before placing his hand to the woman’s face. “She’s cold,” he said. He reached over and tried to hold her steady. Her arms thrashed wildly about. After a brief struggle, her hands became entangled in the folds of his robe. “Easy … easy …” he calmed. The woman’s body relaxed and eventually she went still.

  “That’s it. Good,” Father soothed. His hand returned to her face. He felt a mask of cold and clammy skin beneath his fingertips. “I think she’s suffering from hypothermia.”

  “Then hurry with the test, and get her to the infirmary,” Patterson said.

  “Okay,” Father acknowledged.

  He reached into his robe and retrieved a small vial of clear liquid. Pulling the stopper from the glass vial, he quickly poured a couple of drops onto his fingers. Then, he placed his fingertips on the woman’s forehead and traced the shape of a crucifix across the smooth skin of her brow. As his fingers moved in two straight lines, first horizontally, then vertically, he muttered a barely audible incantation. Once he had finished his bizarre ritual, he stood and said, “Okay, she’s clean.” He moved over to the first person in line. He repeated the test a further five times, then returned to Daniel’s side, replacing the now empty vial of holy water in his pocket.

  “They’re clear, all of them,” he said.

  Daniel dropped the machinegun to his side. He took a step away from the Major and moved over to the guy who had tried to help. “Sorry, brother,” he apologised. “But we need to be sure you’re all clean.”

  The aging newcomer nodded to Daniel. “I understand,” he responded. With a shift of his chin, he pointed towards the woman. “May I?”

  “Yeah – fine,” Daniel said.

  The man moved away from the rest of the group, bent over the woman and placed his fingers against her throat. “Her pulse is steady, but weak. We need to get her warm, and quick. If we don’t hurry she could go into complete shutdown.” Seeing the surprise on their faces, the newcomer said, “I’m a doctor.” He paused for a second, thoughtful. “Well, I used to be a doctor before all … this.” His eyes roamed from one desperate face to the next. He shook his head as if trying to conjure up a picture of better times.

  “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 hig
h. “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 ou
t, 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.