Wombstone (The Vampireland Series) (2 page)

I stared in shock as he jogged back to us with a pink rag covered in oil, knelt down, and started
wiping
Ryan’s shoes.
 

“It's not a knock–off,” I protested.
 

Nobody said anything.

“My boyfriend is going to kick the shit out of you.” Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“Boss, we need to get going,” the one with the gun urged.
 

Ryan nodded, kicking ‘Ford’s’ hurried hands away from his feet.
 
“Dose her!” he barked, and something sharp stabbed into my forearm. My mouth formed a horrified O as I saw the taller guy pressing the plunger down on a syringe that was already deep in my skin. He’d moved so fast, I hadn’t even had time to scream.

How did he do that so fast?
“What -” I spluttered through a mouth full of cotton wool.
 

A thousand thoughts ran through my addled mind, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t yell out. Couldn’t even close my stupid mouth. I was literally frozen.

They are going to rape me and kill me and I am going to die.

They are going to bury me in the woods under the snow and nobody will ever know what happened to me.

Or maybe they’ll keep me alive in an underground basement.

Or maybe they want my kidneys.

I am so screwed.

But one terrified thought rose above the rest.

I don’t want to die.

The stuff stung as it made its way into my bloodstream, but the pain was short–lived. I didn’t even have time to collect my gaping jaw from the pavement and close my mouth before blackness descended over my vision and I crumpled like a rag doll. Rough hands carried me through the night air, and I landed somewhere that smelled like oil and cigarettes.
 

The last thought I could form before the darkness closed in was
I should have run when I had the chance.
 

Dampness. I smelled dampness, and the coppery scent of old blood.

My wrists ached. My arms burned, tied above me in an impossible knot, and I came to with a violent jerk when I realized I wasn’t waking up in my own bed. Opening my eyes, I found myself chained from a wooden rafter, crucifixion–style, in a tiny, dark room that had no windows and moss–stained limestone walls. My toes barely touched the cool ground. For a few seconds I struggled with the chains that dug deep into my wrists, but vertigo slammed into me at the slightest movement. Groaning involuntarily, I peered around the room that held me prisoner. The memories of the parking lot, of being grabbed, rushed at me all at once, and I shuddered.
 

My face throbbed where I’d been punched. My nose made a sickening scraping noise with every shaky inhalation. Silently, I began to cry, salt water blurring my vision. Things like this didn't happen to girls like me. But this was happening, and it seemed like every bit of good luck I'd ever had was coming back to bite me.
I couldn't get free from my bindings, so I tried to come up with a plan of escape ...
... and drew a blank. Every plan I could think of had the initial step of being untied. With no foreseeable hope, I started to panic, my silent tears turning into heaving sobs. The crying soothed me, calming my ragged spirit.
After a few minutes, my sobs slowed to a steady, silent weeping. Fear churned in my belly as my shocked brain tried to find a way out. I surveyed my dungeon in greater detail, able to swing around on my chain a little to get a three–sixty view of the room. It looked like a small storage room, with one small window behind me that was covered entirely with old plywood, a pile of old rags and blankets underneath. All four walls were made from the same water–stained cinderblock and covered with tufts of moss and green slime. A beige–colored door with an old–fashioned brass keyhole and no handle stood in front of me. An identical door, this one with a handle and no keyhole, was to my left. The room was a perfect square, devoid of furniture, roughly twelve feet by twelve feet.
 
Dull cherry–colored stains littered the concrete floor. I tried not to think of what they could be from.
Under the window, the pile of rags started moving. I screamed.
“Be quiet!” The pile of rags hissed, suddenly moving and sitting up and becoming a girl.
I shook my hands, rattling the rusted chains that kept me suspended. “Help me!” I hissed back.
The girl (who I could now see wasn't a pile of rags, just a very skinny girl) shrugged her rags/blankets off, stood and came over to me. She was young, maybe thirteen, with massive green eyes and dirty, straw–colored hair that fell almost to her waist. She wore a green t-shirt that matched her eyes, though now it was covered in dirt and bloodstains. Her jeans were just as filthy. She peered at me, as if trying to decide whether to punch me or give me a hug.
 

I smiled weakly, gesturing with my hands. “Please?”
She continued to stare at me, unblinking.
“What's your name?” I tried again.
“Kate,” she answered automatically. “You one of them?”
“One of who?”
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “One of them vampires.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Um … no?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You ain’t got no bites on you. You must be a vampire.” She glanced disdainfully at my chains. “A sick–in–the–head goddamn vampire. Is this some kinda sick joke? Tie yourself up so I can let you bite me?”

Jesus. Vampires?

“Kate,” I said slowly, “I don't know what happened to you, but I was taken.” Images of the guys in the parking lot, the heavy fists, the bumpy car ride, flashed through my thoughts.
“I was walking to my car. I don't know where I am.
Please help me
.”
She appeared unsatisfied, but reached up with a reluctant look on her face and started tugging at the chains that pinned my wrists. Before I could blink, I was on my ass on the floor.
“Ow!” I cried as my tailbone screamed in protest.
“You're welcome,” Kate said sarcastically. She retreated to her pile of rags and huddled into the corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “How do we get out of here?”
Kate laughed, and it was such a horrible, dejected laugh it made me shiver.
I looked at her questioningly. “What?”
Her face immediately settled back to a blank. “Why don't you got no bites on you?”
“I don't know!” As I said it, I realized the sores I was seeing all over her arms and neck were
 
a combination of bite marks and deep, straight gashes. “Holy shit,” I gasped. “What did they do to you?”
Her steely composure fell momentarily, and was replaced by acute sorrow. “You musta just got here,” she said softly. “I'm surprised they didn't bite you already. You look fulla healthy blood.”
I shuddered.

“There ain’t no gettin’ outta here,” she answered my question. “So quit tryin’. It makes them mad.”

I tried not to have a panic attack as I thought of my options.

“Are we in New Jersey?” I asked.

Kate shrugged. “I’m from Kansas.”

Where the hell were we?

I thought about that for a while. In the middle of Kansas and New Jersey there was ... Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, and about ten other states.
“Hey Kate?” I asked.
“Mmm?”
“How long have you been here?”
She sighed. “Today makes ninety–three days.”
I choked on the impossibility of that number. Ninety–three days. I would die if I had to stay there that long.
“I can't believe they haven't killed me yet.” She continued softly. “Thirty is usually the maximum before they kill you.”
I swallowed back tears and screams. “What–why do you think they let you live this long?”
The age and weariness in her tiny voice was almost too much to bear. As were her words. “Apparently,” she said with finality, “the young ones taste better.”
“Wait!” I said. “You said thirty days? How do you know?”
“Because,” she said quietly, “you're the fourth roomie I've had.”
I replayed her words in my head, over and over again. Young girls taste the best. Thirty days.

“You got pretty eyes,” Kate said, looking at me oddly. I smiled sadly. My turquoise blue eyes were my best feature, and people always commented on them.

“Thanks,” I said.
 

You’re the fourth roomie I’ve had.

Where was I? How was I going to get out of here? I didn't once consider the possibility of not getting out. Only stupid girls got murdered. I would find a way to get out, a way to outsmart these guys ... they just had to come and open the door first. Or the window.
If they were even coming back for us. I'd heard starvation was a nasty way to die.

***

The sun rose the next morning, through a tiny split in the planks of wood that boarded the solitary window. I had slept on and off, not from choice but from pure exhaustion. Still nobody came, and my stomach rumbled loudly in protest. Kate didn't talk or move much, and spent a lot of time completely passed out. I wondered if it was the blood loss or the lack of food. She really did look like crap.

I used the long, empty morning to explore every inch of our shared cell. I had since discovered the door with the handle opened into a bathroom. The faucets had been removed, but there was a nondescript toilet, a rusted bath, assorted bugs and mildew. There was nothing in the way of weapons. Even the heavy–looking lid of the toilet cistern was screwed on tight. Frustrated, I paced from one tiny room to another, racking my brain for an answer that just didn’t seem to exist.

I spent the rest of the day watching a sliver of sunlight move across the floor and dreaming up ways of escape. But still, nobody came. As the sunlight waned and my captivity approached 24 hours, I really did wonder if I would live to see my family again.

***

My second night in the dungeon, someone finally made an appearance. Two of the guys that had taken me – one, whose name I knew was Ryan, and the other, the guy Ryan had called Ford, the guy who wiped my vomit off Ryan's shoes. Ford immediately stormed in, grabbed Kate up off the floor, and dragged her out into the hallway. The door slammed shut and I was left alone with the one who had broken my nose. My heart was beating so loud, I could barely hear anything over the roaring of my blood.
“Stand up,” Ryan said, tossing me a plastic bag full of stuff. I peered into the bag, seeing – and smelling – cold–cut sandwiches, potato chips and a liter bottle of water. Mouth watering, I left the bag on the floor and stood on rubbery legs. I didn't want to obey him, but I sure as hell didn't want him to kick the crap out of me if I stayed sitting down.
“Where am I?” I asked. “What is this place?”

For someone that took young girls and bit them all over, he sure didn't look too excited by my presence.

“What do you want?” I kept throwing questions at him. “Who
are
you?”

“You are here,” he answered. “If you keep asking questions, I’ll kill you.”

“You broke my nose,” I said accusingly, narrowing my eyes.
 

He raised his eyebrows, coming closer, peering at my nose. “I could punch you again, straighten it up?”

I pulled my head back, just out of his reach. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Do you need anything? More blankets?”

I stared incredulously at this teetering Jekyll and Hyde who wanted to punch me and get me a blankie in the same conversation. “I need to get home,” I said slowly, as if I were speaking to a moron. “I have my geometry final in two days.”

His tone was dry. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore.”

Fear shot up my spine again. “Look” - I started.

“No, you look,” he said dangerously, putting a hot hand around my throat and squeezing. “I didn’t come in here to make casual conversation.”

I gasped and choked for air.

“Just do what you’re told. Cooperate. It will be over soon enough.”

I nodded, still choking. He released his grip and I fell to my knees, holding my throat with both hands. He waited, staring at me blankly, as I found the air to speak.

As I asked the question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He laughed, but his mask slipped a little, because he faltered. “Of course not.”

“Well then you’re pretty stupid,” I shot. “Letting me see your face. Your license plate. Your
tattoo.
” I pointed to the black, luminous symbol etched onto his wrist that looked like a pair of eagle’s wings.

“Are you trying to talk me into it?” he asked with a smirk.

I glared at him.

“I know what you’re doing, sweetie. You’re trying to provoke me.”

“How am I doing so far?”

He grinned like the smug bastard he was. “Terribly.”

There was a scream from the hallway. I looked past Ryan, to the open doorway, and then back to him, trying to figure out a way to just get past him.

“Did you bite that girl?” I demanded.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he drawled. He pointed to the bag of food. “Now be a good girl and eat all your dinner.” Before I could respond, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.
 

I forgot about him for the moment. I was starving. I dived at the bag and grabbed the water first, dying to wet my tongue. I opened the bottle and took a small sip, swishing the water around my mouth. It tasted fine, but the seal had been broken, as if it had been refilled. I wondered if it had been drugged and vowed to drink as little as possible.
 

The sandwich was typical truck–stop fare, white slabs of bread jammed with low–grade salami, but after going so long without eating, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. The bread, soggy from too much cheap mayonnaise, melted on my tongue as I bit, chewed and swallowed with unnatural speed.

I wondered how it could be that they would feed me if they were going to kill me, and then the door opened, and Kate was thrown back in to the room. I dropped my sandwich and rushed at the door as it was slammed in my face.
 

Kate was bleeding
everywhere
. I helped her to sit up as she trembled violently. Her eyes were blank and unseeing, as if she were staring at something that wasn’t there, something full of horror.