Desolation: Chapters 3 & 4
Dominion of the Damned: Book One
In a world where zombies roam and vampires rule, how far will Hannah Jordan go to survive?
Desolation is the first book in my post-apocalyptic horror trilogy, Dominion of the Damned.
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Chapter Three
Waking up wasn’t easy. It felt like trying to float to the surface of a deep pool with a weighted jacket dragging her back down. Hannah first became aware that her mouth felt dry, and that her head hurt. She wanted to roll over and sink back down into blessed unconsciousness, but something held her in place. Gradually, thoughts began to form in her mind, and then memories. Of Noah.
They took Noah.
Hannah opened her eyes. She tried to sit up and realized she was tied down. Frantically, she looked around. She was strapped to a cot in a room full of cots, surrounded by gray walls. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a greenish pall over the room. An IV was attached to her right arm. She struggled against her restraints, but both of her arms were tied down.
“Take it easy,” said a male voice, rich and resonant. A man in a white lab coat appeared at her bedside. He looked young, probably no more than thirty, with short, black hair and a darkly handsome face. He spoke with a slight accent that Hannah couldn’t quite place. Russian, maybe, or Eastern European.
“Where’s my baby?”
“He’s safe. You both are. He was taken to our nursery for care.”
“Where is this?” she asked. Her mouth and throat were so dry that she had trouble getting the words out, and she ended up coughing. The man left her bedside, returning a moment later with a plastic cup. He sat next to her and lifted her head to help her drink. The water tasted stale and unfiltered, but it was so soothing on her throat that she didn’t care.
As she drank, he spoke. “You’re in the infirmary of your state’s prison. We’ve converted it into a survivor camp. You were brought here last night, and I’ve been giving you fluids and vitamins. The tranquilizer they shot you with tends to leave people dehydrated, and according to your blood work, whatever food you’ve been surviving on all this time was lacking in nutritional value.”
When she finished drinking, he pulled the cup away and wiped away the water that had dripped down her chin. She licked her lips. “My baby. Can I see him?”
He looked away and took a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you have a name?”
“Hannah,” she said. “Hannah Jordan.”
He retrieved a clipboard from a rolling table near the bed and wrote on it. “And your baby?”
“Noah. He’s my brother. I’m all he has.” She swallowed and tried to keep her voice steady. “He’s all I have.”
He returned the clipboard the table. “My name is Doctor Konstantin. I’m going to undo your restraints, but I need you to hold still until I unhook you from all of this. Okay?”
She nodded. As he unfastened the straps, she scanned the room for something to use as a weapon but saw nothing useful. Even if she did, she had nowhere to go. She didn’t even know where they were keeping Noah, or how to find her way out of this place. She needed to be smart, not impulsive. She would have to cooperate until she got her chance.
The doctor finished unhooking her from the IV and the monitor, and helped her sit up. “How do you feel?”
“A little groggy.”
He nodded. “That’s normal.” He got up and went to a cabinet. After rummaging through it, he returned with a metal tray, upon which sat a little paper cup and a larger plastic one. He held the smaller one out to her. It contained two little orange pills. She eyed them skeptically.
“Ibuprofen,” he said. “For your head-ache.”
When she refused them, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I can’t think of a good reason to revive you and unstrap you if I was just going to drug you again.”
He popped the pills in his own mouth and washed them down with water in the larger cup. Then he went to toss them both in the trash, leaving the tray on her bed. While his back was turned, she grabbed the tray and slid it under her shirt. It wasn’t very sturdy, but it would still hurt like hell if she used it to whack somebody upside the head.
“Anyway,” said the doctor as he returned, “you’re not the only one with a headache.” He smiled. It was a nice smile, the kind that lit up his whole face and made the skin crinkle appealingly around his eyes, which she noticed for the first time were a pale, icy blue.
Hannah clenched the sheets in her fists as she drew back against the head of the bed. “You’re one of them.”
His smile faded. “That depends. Which them do you mean?”
“Those people from last night. They wanted to kill me. They were going to eat my brother. I shot one of them, and he…” Her voice trailed off as the shock of what had happened with the old man set in.
“Ah, yes. The Rhines. I heard about what happened with them. Don’t worry, they’ve been dealt with. You’re safe here, Hannah. So is your brother. You have my word.”
“For whatever that’s worth,” said another voice. The click of heels on tile echoed throughout the mostly empty room, and the type of woman that Hannah could only think to describe as a bombshell came over to them. Her hair framed her pale face in soft curls so blonde they were almost white. She had the face of a movie star from the forties and the figure to match. She wore a gray tweed skirt suit that looked like it belonged to the same era. Her shoes were high and red, the same shade as her lipstick, and her eyes matched the doctor’s. “I see our patient’s awake. How close is she to ready?”
“Ready for what?” Hannah asked.
Ignoring her question, the doctor handed the woman the clipboard. “She’s slightly anemic. I’ve given her a vitamin drip, but she needs protein.”
“Hannah Jordan,” said the woman, reading her name off of the chart. She glanced up at the doctor. “Will she be ready by Thursday?”
“If you feed her well.”
“Why?” asked Hannah. “What happens Thursday?”
The woman smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. Unlike the doctor, her eyes remained untouched by her smile. She leaned in close, forcing Hannah to repress a shudder.
“On Thursday, you pay your rent.”
“But I…” Hannah swallowed. “I don’t have any money.”
The woman laughed. That, too, lacked any warmth. It reminded Hannah of the girls in high school who would make fun of her for wearing clothes from Walmart, and it angered her as much as it chilled her.
Her laughter faded, and so did her smile, as she straightened up. “I am Esme, and this is my house. I provide your kind with shelter and refuge from those… creatures walking around outside. You will repay my kindness with obedience and blood.”
“What if I’m not interested in your kindness?”
That chilly smile returned. “If that’s the case, then I’ll be happy to show you the front door.” She sashayed over to a small television monitor mounted high in one corner of the room, and turned it on. A black and white image flickered onto the screen, showing a throng of people, all of them showing various degrees of decay, pressing up against a high concrete wall, and against each other. They seemed oblivious to one another, intent only on somehow getting through that wall. Every one of them wore the same vacant, hungry stare that her mother had worn at the end. Hannah closed her eyes as Esme said, “You’re more than welcome to take your chances with them, if that’s what you prefer.”
Hannah lowered her head in resignation, allowing silence to answer for her. After a moment she said, “I’d like to see my brother.”
Esme looked at the doctor. “The infant that was brought in with her last night,” he explained.
She nodded. “If you cooperate and do as you’re told, you’ll be allowed to see him. Eventually.”
“Perhaps if she was allowed to see him now, to confirm that he’s safe,” he suggested.
Esme raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps she would be reassured that she’s safe here, and less inclined to put up a fight.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” She crossed back over to Hannah, and bent down in her face. “Or perhaps you’ll just damn well do what you’re told if you ever want to see the sweet babe again.” Hannah’s entire body felt like a coiled spring, ready to pop. She slid a hand under her shirt and gripped the tray.
“Oh, you are a pretty one, aren’t you?” Esme raised a hand and traced her finger down Hannah’s cheek. Then she grabbed Hannah’s face, nails digging painfully into her cheeks. She ripped Hannah’s shirt open, grabbed the tray and handed it to Doctor Konstantin. “This one’s going to bear watching.” She released her grip, and Hannah pulled her shirt closed and rubbed her face. Her hand came away with blood on it.
Esme turned to Konstantin. “Don’t get any ideas about making her your pet.” She turned to leave, but as she passed him, she paused to add, “And don’t tell me how to run my camp. Save the reassuring doctor act for your own little project. It’s wasted here.”
The doctor glared after Esme as she left, then went to the cabinet and brought some alcohol and cotton swabs over to Hannah’s bed. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling up a stool. “Esme always feels she has something to prove.” He dipped a swab into the bottle of alcohol and reached for Hannah’s face, pausing when she jerked away from his touch.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me see what she did to you.” When Hannah still hesitated, he added, “Please?”
She held still and let him examine her face. His fingers were cool, but much gentler than Esme’s had been. She flinched as he cleaned the first cut.
“I’m sorry. This is going to sting a little.”
“What are you? Those things out there… are you some kind of mutation?” Did you come back from that? was what she wanted to ask, even though part of her didn’t want to think about what that would have meant.
He kept working on her face as he answered. “Not exactly. I think they might actually be a mutated form of us. We have our similarities, of course. We both come back after being significantly dead, for example, and we both require human tissue for sustenance.” He paused and looked at her and grinned. “But vampires tend to be much better at conversation. Among other things.”
Hannah didn’t smile back. “Vampires. Naturally.” She shook her head. “I guess there’s really nothing that shocks me anymore.”
He finished treating her and sat back on his stool, regarding her. “What’s your story, Hannah Jordan? What is it that makes you such a survivor?”
“You want to know my story?”
He nodded.
“Then get me my brother. Bring him to me safe and healthy, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
He tilted his head and held her gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. At last he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
A pair of guards escorted her through a series of barred gates and corridors, and it quickly became clear that they had brought her to a literal prison. Instead of prison guard uniforms, her escorts wore the same black combat fatigues that her captors had worn. The only weapons they carried were non-lethal: tasers and dart guns and pepper spray, intended more for enforcing cooperation than anything else.
They led her to a cell block, where people milled about in open cells, all of them dressed in orange prison jumpsuits. Hannah began to fear that she was being thrust into a prison full of convicts, but there was a mix of men and women, old and young. Those that looked at her did so with haunted eyes that showed no hint of violence. Only submission.
They stopped outside an open cell, and one of the guards rapped on the bars. Inside, a plump, middle-aged woman looked up from an improvised desk made of an old door resting on top of cement blocks. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she took in Hannah, but filled with wariness as they turned to her guards.
“We have a newcomer.”
They handed her a clipboard. She nodded and waved Hannah over to the desk. “Come here, girl.” Scanning the clipboard, she grunted. “New folks are a lot fewer and farther between these days. Where’d you come from?” She spoke with the rasp of a longtime smoker, and her skin looked like freckled leather. Her red hair, short and wiry, had turned yellow at the temples. Her eyes were the color of olives.
“You’re human.”
“Yup. Guessing I’m the first one you’ve seen in a while.”
“And you’re helping them? Why?”
The woman looked up from the clipboard. “Because I do what I’m told. You will, too, if you know what’s good for you. Now, I’m Louise. What’s your name?” She sat down at the desk and rummaged until she found a pen, then looked up at Hannah expectantly.
“Hannah. Hannah Jordan. What is this place?”
Louise scribbled on the clipboard. “Refugee camp.”
“In a prison? Run by vampires?”
Louise put down the pen and sighed. “This is the state penitentiary. The thing about prisons, little girl, is that they have big walls, and walls keep out the dead. This is the safest place you could hope to be.”
“I was someplace safer.”
“Must not’ve been, if they found you.”
Hannah shook her head in disgust, mostly at herself. “I was stupid. I left.”
“Well, you’re here now. And like you said, the vampires run the show. So you keep your head down and behave like a good little sheep, and they’ll take good care of you, keep you fed and safe. All you have to do is make a donation to the blood bank once a month, and don’t stir up trouble.”
Hannah chewed the inside of her cheek as everything Louise told her sunk in. What kind of nightmare world had she walked into? Carried Noah into? “I have a brother. He’s only a baby. Esme said they have him. Do you know where he is?”
Louise’s demeanor softened a little as she gave Hannah a look of sympathy. “They keep the children separated, to keep all the families in line.”
“You mean they hold them hostage.”
Louise grimaced at the term, but she nodded. “I don’t know where they keep them. I do know that they take good care of them, and they’ll let you visit him every now and then if you behave.” With a sigh, she picked her pen back up. “All right, let’s get to it. Everybody here has a job, and we need to find one for you. What did you do before the outbreak?”
“I was a nursing student. Second year.”
“That’s good.” She jotted down some notes. “Anything else?”
Hannah shrugged. “I worked as a carhop at Sonic.”
The woman grunted. “Any special skills?”
Hannah was an excellent marksman. She could field strip a rifle in under a minute. She knew which wild plants and berries were edible and which were poisonous, and she knew three different ways to start a fire without any matches. But somehow she didn’t think any of that would come in handy in this place. “I know first aid and CPR. And I can sew.”
“Good. I’ll put you down for laundry duty. We can always use people who know how to mend clothes. You can also help out in the clinic twice a month, and I’ll put you on the Emergency Response Team.” She glanced up at Hannah. “Think you can handle all of that?”
Hannah nodded.
“Good. In here, we all pull our weight. We all work, we all share, we all help each other out. This situation has forced us all to become communists.” She sighed, and there was a resignation to it. “I hope that doesn’t offend your sense of patriotism, but that doesn’t really matter. There is no America anymore.”
That news stunned Hannah. “What about the rest of the world? Is there anybody left?”
“There are other camps. Dozens, all over the world. All under the vampires’ control. There is no human government anymore.”
Hannah felt her jaw hanging open, and closed it. “How did that happen?”
Louise gave her a skeptical look. “Where have you been, girl? Hiding under a rock?”
“Pretty much.”
Louise sighed. “Well, first people started dying. Then they started coming back and killing. Nobody knew why. They still don’t. But it spread like a plague, too fast for the CDC or anybody else to keep up with.”
“Through their bites. I learned that much from experience.”
“Bites.” Louise nodded. “Scratches, fluids getting into eyes, mouths or open sores... it all happened so fast. The government, the military, the UN, everybody... they couldn’t keep it from spreading.
“Then the vamps showed up. Nobody knew where they came from... hell, nobody even knew they existed. But they were immune, and stronger than those things and us, and they need us alive. They rounded what was left of us up and brought us to these camps, to keep us safe.”
“To guard their food supply, you mean.”
Louise gave her a hard look. “The way I see it, we’re at the bottom of the food chain now, and we’ve got two options: either get eaten whole by those things out there, or a little bit at a time by the things in here. Now which do you suppose will keep you alive longer?”
“Alive as slaves.”
“Better to be a living slave than a dead meal. Or worse... you could be one of those things. Now, come on. Let’s get you settled in.” Louise tucked the clipboard under her arm and went to a set of bunk beds mounted on the wall. The top bunk held stacks of orange jumpsuits and folded white towels. She gave Hannah an appraising look. “What are you, a size four?”
Hannah almost didn’t hear her as the weight of everything Louise had told her fully sunk in. “A size eight,” she said distractedly, before adding, “but I guess I’ve lost some weight.”
Louise laughed. “Haven’t we all? It’s the new diet craze. Basic survival. Everybody’s doing it.” She pulled down some jumpsuits and flipped through them, checking the tags. She selected two and handed them to Hannah, along with a towel. “Those are smalls. They’re men’s, though, so they’ll probably be a little big on you. But at least it’s something to wear.” She looked Hannah up and down. “When’s the last time you showered?”
“Not since before . . . everything.”
Louise let out a low whistle. “That’s a long time to go without a hot shower. Come on. I’ll show you to your bunk, then I’ll take you down to the showers.” She headed out of the cell as she spoke, and Hannah followed. “Normally, we all start lining up for the showers before breakfast. It’s not someplace you ever want to go by yourself.”
“Why?”
She looked back over her shoulder at Hannah. “Word of advice, girl. You don’t ever want to catch yourself alone in this place, not if you can help it. Oh, I know they gave you the speech about how we’re all safe here, and under protection. And it’s true, the guards get in a lot of trouble for helping themselves. If they get caught.” She let out a bitter laugh. “But you’d be surprised how often they don’t.” She glanced back at Hannah again. “You’re pretty, too. They’ll all want a taste of you.”
Hannah stared in horror at the back of Louise’s head as she followed her up a catwalk to another row of cells. She said a silent prayer of thanks for all of the self-defense training her dad had insisted on before asking, “So, exactly how strong are they?”
“Stronger’n you. That’s all that matters.”
Hannah rubbed the scratches Esme’s iron grip had left on her face. If that little display had been any indication, she doubted that her green belt in Krav Maga would do her much good if she got cornered by one of those things.
They came to an empty cell. “Here you go,” said Louise. “D 32. Remember that number.”
Hannah stepped inside and looked around. It was a tiny square cell, about six feet by six feet, with a pair of bunk beds on one wall and a stainless steel toilet in the corner. A sink was mounted on the wall above the toilet, and a tiny shelf hung over the sink. High up on the back wall of the cell was a small, rectangular window, covered with bars. She’d have to climb up onto the top bunk to see out of it.
“It’s getting close to lunch time,” said Louise. “I’ll get some clean sheets on your bunk while you’re down in the cafeteria. But first I’ll take you down to the showers. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you while you get cleaned up.”
The showers were in a big, square, concrete room, with exposed pipes running overhead. About thirty shower heads hung down from them, with no stalls or privacy curtains to separate them. Above the pipes, pale fluorescent lights flickered, their light almost swallowed up by the dark gray concrete. The room was creepy enough that Hannah didn’t relish the thought of being in here alone, even without knowing that the threat of being attacked by monsters was all too real.
Louise looked around the room before nodding. “I’ll be right outside. I know this is your first hot shower in months, but try to be quick.”
She left her clothes on a bench near the door, and chose a row of showers next to a wall. She tried to keep her back to the wall as she turned on the spray. The warm water washing over her was the best thing she’d felt in ages, even though the water pressure was a little too strong. She wanted to close her eyes and imagine all of the hell of these last several months being washed away along with the layers of dirt and grime. But she forced her eyes to stay open, even as the water stung them. Louise might have been right outside, but Hannah didn’t trust anyone to watch her back. She had to do that for herself.
Once she was clean, she could smell how ripe her own clothes had gotten, and grudgingly put on the orange jumpsuit instead. It felt about two sizes too big, and the crotch hung halfway to her knees. She pulled the leather belt off of her jeans and wrapped it around her waist, cinching up the bottom half of the suit.
True to Louise’s word, she was waiting outside the showers to take Hannah to the cafeteria. She led her to a big, high-ceilinged hall filled with rows of tables and benches. Catwalks hung about twelve feet above the floor, running all the way around the room. Originally meant for prison guards, it was now patrolled by men and women in more of those black uniforms.
Across the back of the hall stretched a counter. Louise led Hannah to it and handed her a tray. “The food’s decent here, even if you don’t get a lot of it. They’re pretty strict about the portions. But at least they’re determined to keep us healthy. Can you find your own way back up to your room?”
Hannah nodded.
“Good. I’ll go finish getting it ready for you.”
“You’re not eating?”
Louise waved a hand. “I’m too busy. Don’t worry, they’ll bring a tray up to my office.”
“Thanks,” Hannah called as the woman walked away. She sighed, and took her place at the end of the food line. She must have been late—most of the tables were already full, and the line was mercifully short.
When she reached the counter, the food surprised her, despite what Louise had said. She was served a chef’s salad with fresh vegetables and a hard-boiled egg. With lunch in hand, Hannah looked for a place to sit and eat. She kept her eyes ahead and headed toward some empty tables in the back. It felt like she was back in high school, when she’d had more pimples than friends, and trying to find a spot to eat her lunch and read a book in peace had been a daily ordeal.
“You’re new,” someone called as she passed by their table.
Hannah turned to see a girl about her age looking up at her. She was super thin, with mousy brown hair in a pixie cut. The prison jumpsuit she wore looked like it was about to fall off, it was so baggy on her. She gestured to the seat across from her.
“Here. Sit.”
Hannah obliged, grateful for some human company. Maybe this girl would be able to give her some answers. Settling in across from her, she said, “I’m Hannah.”
“Phyllis,” said the girl. “When did you get here?”
“Last night, I think. I wasn’t exactly conscious for the trip.”
“Wow. I didn’t think there was anybody left out there.”
Hannah looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then leaned forward and asked, quietly, “Do you know where they keep the children?”
“No, why? Do you have a kid?”
Hannah sat up and stabbed a chunk of lettuce with her fork. “My baby brother. They took him from me.”
Phyllis nodded. “Yeah, they do that. But don’t worry, they won’t hurt him.”
“That’s what Louise said, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe it until I see him for myself.”
“No, I get it. How old is he?”
“What month is it?”
“Um, August. I think. It’s easy to lose track in here.”
“That would make him about five months.”
“Damn. I don’t think we’ve ever had a baby that young. Anyway, as long as you keep your head down and do the work they give you, they’ll let you see him in about a month. Hey, what’s your last name?”
“Jordan. Why?”
“You just missed the cutoff.”
“What cutoff?”
Phyllis put her fork down. “For the blood drive. They split us up alphabetically. This week is F through J. You’ll go tomorrow.”
Hannah suddenly felt queasy. She dropped her fork on the tray and pushed it away.
“Hey, don’t be scared. It’s just like giving blood at the Red Cross. Except they don’t give us any cookies after.”
Hannah shook her head. “They’re really vampires?”
“Well, yeah. Is this a new concept for you? Where have you been hiding?”
Hannah gave a small, apologetic shrug. “In a bomb shelter.”
“Oh.” Phyllis blinked. “Wow. What was that like?”
Hannah frowned down at her plate. “Safe.”
Phyllis also eyed her plate. “You really should eat that. You need to keep your strength up.” She glanced around, then leaned over and whispered. “I’ve heard that if we get too weak to give blood they feed us to the zeds.”
Hannah stared at her in horror a moment before asking, “The zeds?”
“Yeah. You know, like how the Brits say the letter z? For zombie?”
“Oh.”
“What do you call them?”
Hannah thought about it a moment. “The scary dead things that ate my parents. But yours is catchier.”
It was Phyllis’s turn to say, “Oh.” For a moment she simply sat there, quietly chewing her food. “Anyway,” she said at last, “there aren’t that many of us humans left, and it forces them to ration their food, which makes them cranky. So do your best not to piss them off.”
“What if they piss me off?”
The look Phyllis gave her said she hoped Hannah was only joking. “Then you remember that they’re the vampires, and you’re only human, and your little brother needs you to not get killed.”
Hannah grimaced at that, but she knew Phyllis was right. Noah was depending on her. She needed to be smart about this. To be patient, biding her time and gathering information. Most of all, she needed to keep herself alive and strong. She picked up her fork and took a bite of her salad.
Phyllis gave her a look of sympathy. “I know this is all pretty mind-blowing stuff at first. I mean, vampires? Seriously? But once you see a bunch of dead people get up and eat your boyfriend, it gets a lot easier to believe in this stuff. Why not vampires, too, right? Hell, at this point I’ll believe in werewolves and fairies and little gray bug-eyed space men. The only thing I don’t believe in anymore is God.”
Hannah looked around at the other diners. The cafeteria was full, a sea of orange jumpsuits and drawn faces. There must have been at least five hundred people in here, maybe more. Everyone sat huddled in small groups, heads leaned together, talking in hushed voices. People at their own table were looking at Phyllis, who hadn’t bothered to keep her voice down.
A few tables over, a man got up and came toward them. He was an older man with graying hair and glasses. As he got closer, Hannah could see that his skin sagged as if he’d lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. He approached them and put a hand on Phyllis’s shoulder. “Phyllis, will I see you in group tonight?”
Phyllis rolled her eyes, but answered, “Yes, Rabbi.”
He nodded and patted her shoulder. “Good. Then maybe I can convince you to come to Temple on Saturday.”
She shook her head. “Fat chance, Rabbi.”
“We’ll see.” He inclined his head to Hannah. “Bring your friend. I’m sure she might be helped.” He smiled warmly, and Hannah found herself smiling back. He had kind eyes. He patted Phyllis once more on her shoulder before returning to his table.
“Rabbi Zuckerman,” Phyllis explained. “He was my parents’ rabbi. Now he thinks it’s his job to watch over me.”
“That must be nice.”
Phyllis laughed. “It’s annoying as hell.”
Hannah didn’t say anything to that. She remembered being annoyed by her parents. Who wasn’t? But she’d give anything to have them back, to know they were nearby and watching out for her. “I’m surprised they allow you guys to worship.”
“They don’t really care what we do, as long as we don’t cause trouble. They let all the different religions get together and have their rituals and ceremonies. Of course, they come to them, too, just to make sure we’re not organizing a revolt.”
“Even to the Christian ones?”
“Yeah. What difference does that make?”
“Just, you know. Crosses and all that.”
Phyllis dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “Turns out that part’s not true. I don’t know about any of the other stuff, though. It’s not like we see much daylight in here, and nobody’s had the guts to test the wooden stake theory.”
Hannah nodded. “What’s group?”
“Oh, that.” Phyllis sighed and shook her head. “The prison shrink convinced the powers that be to allow group therapy sessions. They have them every night, and all of the ministers take turns leading them. Tonight’s Rabbi Zuckerman’s turn. Don’t worry, we don’t have to go.”
“What do they talk about?”
“Oh, you know. How horrible everything is, what it’s like to watch your loved ones get devoured by the living dead, how we feel about being enslaved by a master race of vampires . . . the usual.” She rolled her eyes. “As if post traumatic stress isn’t the least of our worries. Besides, there’s nothing ‘post’ about it. Everything is still pretty fricking traumatic.”
Hannah looked around at the prison walls, and at the guards—she guessed that they were vampires, too—patrolling the catwalks above them. She couldn’t argue with that. “What happened to all the inmates?” she asked.
“You mean the ones before us?” Phyllis scanned some of the nearby tables, then pointed. “See that balding guy over there?” When Hannah looked at where she pointed, she continued, “He was the prison psychologist. According to him, the plague got in and wiped everybody out. He and a couple of guards locked themselves in his office while the prisoners all tore each other to pieces, then they shot their way out and headed for the hills. Sounds like a real action movie. Anyway, they were the only survivors.”
Hannah suspected everyone in this room had similar stories. She didn’t ask Phyllis hers, because she didn’t want to talk about her own.
“Don’t look now,” said Phyllis. “There goes Doctor Caligari.”
Up on the catwalk, Doctor Konstantin strolled by. He still wore his white lab coat, and his attention was fixed on a clipboard in his hand. “He told me his name was Konstantin.”
“Yeah. Konstantin the Kid Killer. Oh, I know, he acts all nice, but,” she leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper, “they say he does experiments on kids.”
Hannah thought back to her earlier conversation with him, when she’d asked him to bring Noah to her. Her grip on her fork tightened. “What kind of experiments?”
Phyllis glanced up at the doctor, and Hannah followed her gaze. He’d run into Esme on the catwalk, and the two of them appeared to be having a heated argument. Phyllis turned back to Hannah and said, “Nobody really knows for sure. He comes here a couple times a month, supposedly to run a clinic and make sure we’re all well. But he always picks some people to take back with him, usually people Esme’s ready to get rid of. And kids. He prefers orphans.” She leaned in closer. “They say he’s trying to create synthetic blood. Then they won’t need us anymore. And what do you think happens then?” She sat back, shaking her head and casting him an evil eye. “That guy’s bad news.”
Hannah looked back up at the doctor. Was Noah’s name on that clipboard? Did Konstantin plan to take him away to become a lab rat? This morning, he had looked her in the eye and assured her that Noah was safe and that he would stay that way. Something about him, the sincerity in his voice and in his gaze, had reassured Hannah in spite of everything. But weren’t vampires supposed to be able to hypnotize people, to cast a spell over their victims to make them willing? Had he done that to her?
She realized she was staring up at him. The argument with Esme had ended with her storming away and he turned to look out over the crowd. His gaze met hers, startling her. She quickly looked away, fixing her attention back on Phyllis. “Where does he take them?”
“Rumor has it he has his own camp set up at a converted Army base. But nobody really knows anything. It’s not like the people he takes are ever heard from again.” She reached across the table and touched Hannah’s hand. “Just try to stay off his list, okay?”
Hannah nodded, but she chanced another glance up at the doctor. He was walking away, his attention back on his clipboard. Hannah wondered again what it held. Was that his list of people to take? All she knew for certain was that if Noah was on it, then she had to make sure she was on it, too.
Chapter Four
The collective scent of humanity assaulted Esme’s nostrils and made her mouth water as they fed down below. It reminded her of a time long past, of a girl barely out of childhood, denied the pleasure of sweets because the clients wanted her for her slender figure. That girl would go into the chocolatier to simply stand and inhale. It had been exquisite torture then. It was more so now, with her heightened senses and the inescapable hunger.
She normally avoided the human gathering places for this reason; but her darling Aleksandr had requested a meeting, and he was loath to be alone with her in her office. So she humored him in this, as with most things. She sensed him coming even before his steps vibrated on the catwalk, as she knew he could sense her. They were tied together, eternally, whether he liked it or not.
Esme smiled as he approached, carrying his clipboard and wearing his white coat, playing dress up in a doctor’s clothes, always denying what he truly was. His hair was mussed, no doubt from raking his hands through it as he pondered the solution to some scientific problem. The power emanating from him, and the look of determination on his face, were in stark contrast to the first time she’d seen him, lying in a gutter in Prague, drinking his life away. Then, he had welcomed her embrace as she offered him an escape from his pain, and vengeance. Now he shunned it, always keeping her at arm’s length.
“You’ve kept the infant in quarantine, as I asked?” he said as he approached.
“But of course.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ll be leaving tonight with the children. And the new girl.”
Esme laughed. “My dear Doctor, you’re so predictable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Please. I saw how you looked at her in the infirmary. The hunger in your eyes had nothing to do with blood.” She looked down and spotted the girl in question, sitting at a table with another young woman, casting furtive glances up at them. “She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she? With that long, dark hair and those soulful eyes… it’s no wonder she reminds you of Irina.”
She could sense the way his body tensed at the mention of his wife. “That has nothing to do with it. I simply need her to care for the infant.”
“You already have caretakers for the children.”
“Infants require full-time care. You would know that if you’d ever been a mother.”
Esme ignored the verbal slap and smiled. “Oh, but I am a mother, my dear, sweet boy.” She reached up to caress his cheek, but he pulled away. “Don’t think that you weren’t every bit the infant in the beginning, Alek. You certainly depended on me willingly enough.”
He kept his gaze fixed on his clipboard. “I didn’t come here to discuss us.”
“No,” she said wistfully. “You never do.”
“The girl has medical training,” he continued, determined to keep their meeting all business. “I could use her in my lab.”
“She’s scheduled for collection tomorrow. You would take her tonight, denying us the extra rations?”
Alek sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow, then. I can wait.”
Esme looked back down at the girl. Many of the cattle in her herd were docile enough, recognizing the need for the care and protection that Esme provided. But there were always a few that would happily bite the hand that fed them. She could tell that the girl was the latter. She wasn’t about to let her go before enjoying the pleasure of breaking her. Nor was she about to allow her to become Alek’s special pet.
“You might as well go tonight. The girl stays.”
“Esme—”
“We need her blood. We’re already subsisting on only a pint a day, while the rest gets shipped to the Council. Would you have us starve?”
He rolled his eyes. “One more human won’t make much of a difference either way.”
“And she won’t make that much of a difference at your camp, either. Do what you want with the babe. The girl stays.” She turned on her heel and walked away, ending the discussion. She could still sense Alek fuming behind her as she exited the cafeteria and headed back to the privacy of her office.
Back in the safety of the Warden’s office, Esme took off her shoes and hurled them both across the room. They crashed into a vase on the bookshelf along the far wall, shattering it with the satisfying crack and tinkle of broken glass. In her stocking feet, she trudged over to the leather sofa that sat opposite her desk, and sank down onto it. She was overdue for sleep, she was hungry, and she was in no mood for Alek’s nonsense.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember a time before his desire for her had gone cold. Those first weeks after she had bestowed her gift on him had been heavenly. He had been a reluctant student as she tried to teach him to hunt, but he’d been eager enough after the lessons were over, nursing from her breast like a baby and making love to her wherever they pleased.
But he had never wanted her more than that first night. Then, she had been his savior, his Angel of Mercy.
She saw it as if she was there. She could recall every kill from the last century in perfect detail, every client her mother had sent to her before she had received the gift, right down to their foul breath and the stench of their body odor. How vividly she could still remember the first man to take her, the high price he’d paid for a virgin not yet touched by womanhood. She could still feel the weight of him on top of her, all three hundred pounds of him, how claustrophobic and smothered she’d felt as he lay on top of her, sweating and wheezing. Thankfully, his manhood hadn’t matched the proportions of his girth, and the damage he’d done was minimal. Nevertheless, years later Esme had taken special pleasure in hunting him down and tearing through all three of his chins, feeling his hot blood pour down her throat.
With her eyes closed, she saw Aleksandr lying in that alley as though it was happening for the first time. Passed out drunk in the gutter, lying in his own vomit and still clutching the bottle that had put him there, he would have likely frozen to death by morning if she had passed him by. She only stopped because he seemed like an easy meal.
She checked to make sure they were alone, her senses highly attuned to the presence of another. Satisfied that her meal wouldn’t be interrupted, she crouched beside him and hauled him up to a sitting position. She pulled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of her fur coat, which she wore merely for fashion—the cold having ceased to affect her long ago. Prying the bottle from his hands, she saw that there was still a shot or two of vodka left inside. She poured some onto the handkerchief, and used it to clean his face and neck.
As she touched him, his head lolled to one side. He whispered, “Irina.”
Esme paused. He spoke the name with such sadness that she couldn’t help but wonder who she was and what had become of her. She resumed wiping his face. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. Meeting his gaze, she saw such perfect despair in his eyes. She also saw how beautiful he was. Too beautiful to waste on a single meal.
“Are you an angel?” he asked in slurred Czech.
“I can be,” she replied in his language. “What kind of angel would you like me to be? An angel of mercy?”
He laughed, drunkenly and bitterly. “An angel of death,” he said, “come to take me to her.”
“To Irina?”
He nodded.
Esme cast aside the handkerchief and caressed his face. She saw power there, and anger, hidden beneath the pathetic surface of grief. “I can send you to her. Or I could make you an angel, like me. An angel of vengeance.”
“Vengeance?” His voice lost all traces of drunkenness as he repeated the word. So did his eyes, revealing the intelligence behind them. “How?”
Esme smiled. “Let me show you.”
He nodded. She opened her mouth, and he flinched, startled, as her fangs extended. But he showed no other sign of fear as she opened his coat and bared his neck. He embraced her as she bit into him, held onto her tightly as she emptied him of his life’s blood. Even near the point of death, he still clung to her, drinking hungrily as she fed him her own blood. Only when it was finished did he finally release her as he fell into transformative sleep.
She carried him back to her hotel, sneaked him in by way of the fire escape, and placed him in her bed, where they slept the day away. It was midnight when he finally awoke, a new creature, full of hunger and lust, with vengeance on his heart. He was glorious. And he was hers. As long as she helped him hunt down his enemies, he belonged to her willingly, following where she led, hunting down those who had wronged him, holing up with her to sleep and make love during the day.
In all the long decades that she had walked this earth, that was the only time that she had been truly happy.
A knock on the door cut through her reminiscence. Esme sat up, welcoming the distraction. “Yes?” she called.
The door opened. A red-haired beauty walked in, wearing the black uniform that their kind had adopted to set themselves apart from the humans. Her face was an ivory mask of efficiency as she held a clipboard out to Esme. “Sorry to bother you, Mistress. We’ve received the requisition order for tomorrow’s collection.”
With a sigh, Esme waved her over to the sofa and took the clipboard from her. As she looked over the order, it depressed her that this was what their race had been reduced to. A powerful race of hunters and killers, forced by the blight on humanity to fill their shoes and become administrators and bureaucrats. She pressed her lips together in mild disgust as she signed the order and handed it back to the guard. “Anything else?”
“No, Mistress.” The younger vampire’s gaze flicked to the broken glass by the bookcase. “Would you like me to send for someone to clean that up, ma’am?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Celine.”
With a curt nod, the girl took her forms and left.
Esme rose from the sofa and crossed to the bookcase. There, she slid open a panel to reveal a decanter of aged Scotch. Such spirits were no match for the medicinal and intoxicating powers of fresh, warm blood, but the latter was off the menu and the former was better than nothing. Esme removed a tumbler from the shelf and poured three fingers of the golden liquid. She drank it quickly, enjoying the burn as it traveled down her throat and settled in her stomach, then poured herself another glass.
If she was forced to work and starve like a human, then she might as well drink like one.
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All the criminals dead—only prisons remain.
The blood-drinkers gather, unfazed by the slain.
Babes still wail, young and old in despair,
While the warden won’t look where the edge lays bare.
The doctor is kind… or pretending to be,
And the girl in between tries not to be seen—
Caught in the silence, adrift in the grime,
Holding her breath, staying out of the mind.
Still think the silver bullets dipped in holy water might work.
But I wouldn't want to find out.