A Little Undead (16 page)

I tried to linger in a
pleasant half-sleep, legs still weary from the chase of the previous
night. It wasn't to be, the ferals had already started to stretch.
Much like cats they flexed each muscle in turn, claws grinding
against the dirt. Prickling my skin with their bone-white talons the
heap of them slowly unraveled, filing onto the prairie. Their
gleaming, amber eyes blinked against the light of the sun still
hanging just beyond the horizon. I had barely completed my own
stretches, copying the ferals as much as I was able, when one female
let off a triumphant howl. The scent had been caught, the chase was
afoot once more.

My bare feet were swift and
sure, carrying me through the tall grasses as I followed the feral
ahead of me. I let my arms swing low, like theirs, following their
lead as they fell to all fours for a sprint up a hill as the soft
light of the full moon spurred us on. They weren't like rotters,
gnawing anything that moved, or red-eyes, torturing their kills, but
though I felt safe among them I was ever wary of acting too strange,
too out of place. They were hunters, and for some reason I didn't
smell like food. That was generally enough for them. Even though
they knew I was different, so long as I didn't act like prey they
tolerated me.

We were so close I could
almost taste our quarry. The tingling thrill of a coming squall
pressed at my skin but we kept ever onwards. Even as the winds rose
and rain and fog hid the way we kept our pace.

The end arrived almost
disappointingly quickly, the fog revealing his swaying antlers only
moments before we attacked. The rest of the herd had fled, leaving
behind a lone buck. Potbellied and elderly, his knees had collapsed
after the long run when the flat prairie molded into rolling green
hills. Twelve ferals descended on him with ravenous hunger, the
impact of their claws sending geysers of blood to mix with the
driving rain. I wove through the pack to grab at a leg, pulling and
twisting at the weakened sinew until finally it ripped free.
Retreating from the frenzy of biting and tearing I sank my teeth into
my prize as my packmates fought over the innards of the now
decapitated stag. I let the rain beat against my back as I chewed
the gamey leg muscles, my body still flush with heat from the run.

A roar split the night. I
cocked my head, curious. It was a hunting call, but not that of a
feral. A red-eye, and relatively close. I lowered my head to the
ground, halting my chewing of a stubborn bit of sinew as I listened.
The ground was still dry enough that the answer came as much through
my fingertips as through my ears: footsteps, and lots of them. They
were coming closer, but after a few moments I could tell they would
pass us by. As expected, the moaning and groaning of rotters
sifted through the wind. Red-eyes lived to kill and cause pain, not
for the hunt. They weren't very good at tracking, either. They'd
follow rotters for leagues, leaping ahead only when prey was in
sight. Ferals didn't put up with them. Still, it was odd for any
non-feral to be this far from the cities, let alone a whole pack of
them. They must be pursuing something.

Little content with my small
share of the stag I gave a short yip to my packmates to indicate
“food, follow.” A few briefly looked up, but they were
still too engaged in their meal to consider leaving it. Still, I was
curious. I crept after noisy rotters through the tall grasses and
wildflowers, careful to stay downwind of them lest the scent of my
prize or myself lure them my way. It was then that I heard it.
“...!” The sound of something half-remembered,
half-forgot. “I can't die like this!”

What was it? I recognized
the sounds, could pick out the starts and stops, but the meaning
escaped me. Were these, possibly,
'words?'
It was all so vague, but as they continued to shout their
defiance to the night I felt bits and pieces coming back to me. Were
these truly humans then? It was hard to believe that any were still
alive after so long. The last one I had seen... I hardly remembered
it now. In the old days it had been no novelty to see a human die,
and the last had been witnessed with no special concern. But then,
like the melting of a solitary snowflake, they were gone with no
warning.

Despite the risk, I had to
see them. My packmates were not so far off that I could not run to
them if a red-eye took after me. The clouds were already parting,
and I was confident in my ability to outrun the lazy red-eyes and the
stupid rotters so long as I didn't get lost in the fog.

I
shook desperately, trying to wake from the nightmare, the
memory
,
but I was so very tired. The morning light through the barred window
hung on me like an anvil. My eyes fluttered open and for a moment I
could see both worlds. Then the dream swept me under yet again.

I could almost see them now.
Loud noises – guns, I realized – blared on the hilltop.
The humans, however, stayed stubbornly out of sight. I'd
underestimated the force of those following them. It wasn't a pack,
but a horde. As numberless as the stars they tromped through the
prairie, leaving the grass tamped-down and silent in their wake. I
couldn't pass any closer this way, but the back slope was another
matter. Worn down by the river, the hill gave way to a cliff. I lay
down what remained of the stag's leg and peered up at the cliff of
rock and moss in equal measure. I put to it eagerly but the rain had
made the rocks treacherous and I dared not move too swiftly.

I heard crying. That was
something I remembered, even if it had been so long that I hardly
recalled what it felt like. I crept closer, bare feet gripping the
stone tightly as I reached for the top of the cliff. A pebble rolled
off as I peered over the edge and I worried I had been revealed, but
my worry was for naught. The gunshots and the cacophonous horde were
more than enough to drown out such a small noise.

My face split open in a grin
as I saw them. Humans! Real, living humans, looking frightened or
perhaps manic as they fired bullet after bullet down the slope. One
male even had a bow and arrow. It was a shame they would die so
quickly. A few small fires burned, holding back the red-eyes, but
their defenses wouldn't last for much longer. It would have been...
nice, perhaps, to watch them longer. The ash from the fire pits they
left behind in their travels was warm to sleep in and rarely had bugs
if fresh. There was really no saving them now though, and with so
many hunting them there wouldn't even be anything left of them to
eat.

That was when I heard it
again, the pitiful cry of an infant. My eyes tracked to it
immediately, wrapped in swaddling and tucked into a crevice well
behind their ranks. It was strange to see such a small human, no
bigger than a rabbit. To think it was still alive in this world,
albeit it not for much longer.

I crept closer, though why I
was not sure. Cautiously I picked it up by its clothing with one
hand. Did I eat it? My eyes were blurry but rubbing at them just
made it worse. '
I'm crying,'
I realized.

I clutched the baby closer,
still uncertain, but rapidly realizing that this baby felt important,
felt right. I held it to my chest and a strange sound bubbled out of
it. '
Laughter?'
The
word seemed to fit, but I couldn't remember what it meant. Still, I
wanted to hear more of it. I wouldn't let anyone take this tiny
human from me, not even my packmates.

I roared as something struck
me. It was a knife. The pommel had hit me in the leg, but I
recognized the potential damage it could have caused me instantly.
Snatching up the knife I hissed at her but she ran at me anyways. I
leapt back but my feet hit only air. I was falling...

I felt weak when I awoke, like a
child struck by fever. I could still feel the energy of my vampire
side tucked away inside me, a strength just waiting to flow through
my veins if I let loose the dam. I felt hunger, too. Common, human
hunger, but also that other, darker thirst that emanated from the
same area as my hidden power. I ignored it. Its weight was like a
feather next to the suffocating mountain that was this new
revelation.

Holly wasn't my sister. In
truth, I could get over that. There were plenty of patchwork
families after the outbreak of the Animator virus, and even before,
for that matter. What was harder to stomach was that I stole her,
kidnapped her from her mother. What if that group had survived? Did
she still grieve for her daughter, never knowing what truly happened
to her? I didn't blame her for throwing the knife at me in the
least, beast that I had been. '
I actually considered eating her.'

But why had I kept the knife?
It was the same she had thrown at me, I was sure of it. I ran my
fingers over the blade I had crafted from the bedpost and thought I
understood. It was the symbol of a pact. As long as Holly was safe,
was happy, then what I had done was not so terrible, not
unforgivable. And she was happy, or would be soon. She was going to
perhaps the best college in the world, had two loving parents, and
had a bright future ahead of her. She didn't need me around anymore,
mucking things up.

Booted footsteps disturbed my
contemplations. “Rise and shine.”

“
Shut up,” I
mumbled. I bet he was grinning at me as he plopped a new tray of food
down on the ground before moving off, whoever he was. I didn't stand
up so much as roll onto my feet, shoulders slumped and feet dragging
as I grabbed the tray. It tasted better than the previous fares. The
fruit, at least, was a level above simply edible. I was pleased to
note the orange juice didn't burn my mouth or keep me from
swallowing. Apparently when my fangs had receded my sense of taste
had changed back to normal as well. I was just starting in on the
accursed vegetables when a young officer ran by as if dogs were
nipping at his heels.
'Eh?'

He had hardly made it out the
door when I heard him shouting. “Chains is dead! He bashed his
own head in!”

“
This, I did not expect,”
I whispered. My lips felt parched. I rolled them inwards to wet their
shriveled surface.
'Blood?'
The taste was unmistakable. My
fingers came away covered in the familiar half-congealed substance.
'It's fresh. Did I bite myself in my sleep?'
I set thoughts of
the matter aside as I began a few stretches to wake myself up. It
wouldn't be long before they came to question me again, especially
after something like this. I giggled as the sugar from the orange
juice rushed to my head.
'They'll never let me go free now. I'll
be lucky to only spend ten years locked away. Ten years of horrible
food, hard beds, and unquenchable thirst as I hide what I am.'
The meager meal had restored some life to my limbs, made me feel
normal again. But it wasn't enough. Compared to the power I had
enjoyed yesterday it felt like I was standing in a pit of mud wearing
hundred pound weights. The fruit had done absolutely nothing for my
other hunger either.

I tucked my blackened knife into
a fold of my t-shirt at the small of my back before I could second
guess myself.
'I'm being ridiculous; I should put the knife away
and tell them the truth. If I pitch it right they shouldn't freak out
too badly, it's not as if this is seventeenth century Salem after
all. People see crazier things on Reality TV.'
The knife was a
heavy, cold weight against my spine, but my trembling hands made no
move to remove it from its hiding place. People might be accustomed
to the strange, but with the world still plagued by hostile zombies
it wasn't exactly the best time to come out of the coffin. I fiddled
with a bit of fluff on the blanket, restless and anxious.

There was a knife wound in the
back of his head when they dragged him out, someone having made sure
that he wouldn't become a zombie. It was hard to believe he hadn't
already risen, but maybe it actually was possible to hit your own
head hard enough to prevent resurrection. Who knew. I couldn't see
his face, but he had long gray hair. He was rather thin, but wiry
enough. As I had thought, Jake was wrong in his guess. There were
definitely senior citizens strong enough to hoist a body.

The hair was an odd choice,
didn't see that often in men unless it was in a ponytail or they were
some sort of musician. Then I recognized him. '
The cellist...'
I sank back into the bed, not
wanting to believe that my memory of that small piece of beauty I had
experienced in the park was now tainted as well. For the length of
that song in the park I had felt a connection. Felt like there was
someone who could understand me, accept me. But now I knew the
truth, it was just the recognition from one monster to another.

I no longer cared to move.

Chapter 6:
Final Proposal

O
villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!
My
tables—meet it is I set it down
That
one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

–
Hamlet

A different pair of men came to
take me this time, full of anger and impatience. We passed by a
closed door that pulsed with raised voices. “Completely
incompetent.” “Why wasn't Fred watching the damn feed?”
The men rushed me past before I could hear any more, the hands
pushing me onwards verging on roughness. With that prisoner dead it
was only a matter of time before I became the scapegoat.