‘Wouldn’t mind that job,’ Bart said.
Jim watched the razors sweep paths through the foam, cutting away not only Diane’s thick golden hair, but also the fine down. The passage of the blades left her skin shiny and pink. After a while, she was turned over so the rest of her body could be lathered and shaved.
Then the men rinsed her and dried her with towels.
They carried her from the gurney to the wheeled, oak serving-table. The table, a rectangle large enough to seat only six, was bordered by brass gutters for catching the run-off. At the corners of one end - Roger’s end - were brass stirrups.
Feeling sick, Jim watched the men lift Diane’s limp body onto the table. They bent her legs. They strapped her feet into the stirrups. They slid her forward to put her within easy reach of Roger. Then they cinched a belt across her chest, just beneath her breasts. They stretched her arms overhead and strapped her wrists to the table.
‘That’s about it for now,’ Bart said. ‘If you drop by around seven tonight, that’s when they’ll be basting her. She’ll be awake then, too. That’s when the panic really hits them. It’s usually quite a sight to behold.’
‘I’ve seen,’ Jim muttered, and left the room.
15
He returned to the barracks and tried to sleep. It was no use. Finally, he got up and armed himself. Steve let him out the front gate. He wandered the woods for hours. With his sub-machine-gun, he bagged three squirrels.
In the late afternoon, he ducked into the hiding place he’d found in a clump of bushes. He lashed together the twenty wooden spears which he’d fashioned during the past weeks. He pocketed the small pouch containing the nightcap mushrooms which he had gathered and ground to fine powder.
He carried the spears to the edge of the forest. Leaving them propped against a tree, he stepped into the open. He smiled and waved his squirrels at the north tower. The gate opened, and he entered the estate.
He took the squirrels to Jones in the kitchen. And helped the cheerful chef prepare stew for the Guardians’ supper.
16
Just after sunset, Jim went to the Security Center and knocked.
‘Yo.’ Biff’s voice.
‘It’s Jim. I want to see the basting.’
‘You’re a little early,’ Biff said. Moments later, he opened the door. His mouth made a tight little O and he folded as Jim rammed a knife into his stomach.
17
Diane was awake, sweaty and grunting, struggling against the restraints, gritting her teeth and flinching rigid each time a contraction hit her.
Jim stared at the screen. Without hair and eyebrows, she looked so
Doc entered the Prep Room, examined her for a few moments, then went away.
Jim checked the other screens.
In the Donor Ward, the women had been locked down for the Guardians’ evening mealtime. Some slept. Others chatted with friends in neighboring beds. Jim made a quick count.
In the Specialty Suite, Morgan and Donner were just returning a woman from an Honors Room. They led her to one of the ten
empty beds, shoved her down on it, and shackled her feet to the metal frame. Jim counted heads.
Thirty-two Donors. Only sixteen Specials. Generally, however, the Donors were older women who’d been weakened by the daily loss of blood and by regular mistreatment at the hands of the Guardians. The Specials were fewer in number, but younger and stronger. Though some appeared to be in late stages of their pregnancies, most were not very far along, and many of the newer ones had probably not even conceived yet.
It’ll be the Specials, Jim decided.
He watched Morgan and Donner leave the Suite.
In the Mess Hall, Guardians began to eat their stew.
In the floodlit courtyard, Steve and Bennington climbed stairs to the north and west towers, carrying pots of dinner to the men on watch duty. When they finished there, they should be heading for the other two towers.
Morgan and Donner entered the Mess Hall. They sat down, and Jones brought them pots of stew.
Doc entered the Prep Room. He set a bowl of shimmering red fluid onto the table beside Diane’s hip. He dipped in a brush. He began to paint her body. The blood coated her like paint.
In the Mess Hall, Baxter groaned and staggered away from the table, clutching his belly.
In the Banquet Room, there was no camera. But Jim knew that Roger and his pals would be there, waiting and eager. The absence of the usual table would’ve already tipped them off that tonight would be Special. Even now, Roger was probably picking five to sit with him at the serving table. The unfortunate four would only get to watch and dine on their usual fare of Donor blood.
In the Mess Hall, Guardians were stumbling about, falling down, rolling on the floor.
In the Prep Room, Doc set aside the brush and bowl. He rolled the serving table toward the door. Diane shook her crimson, hairless head from side to side and writhed against the restraints.
Jim rushed out of the Security Center.
18
‘All hell’s broken loose!’ he shouted as he raced up the stairs to the
north tower. ‘Don’t touch your food! Jones poisoned it!’
‘Oh shit!’ Harris blurted, and spat out a mouthful.
‘Did you swallow any?’ Jim asked, rushing toward him.
‘Not much, but…’
Jim jerked the knife from the back of his belt and slashed Harris’s throat. He punched a button on the control panel.
By the time he reached the front gate, it was open. He ran out, dashed across the clear area beyond the wall, and grabbed the bundle of spears.
The gate remained open for him. Apparently, the poison had taken care of the Guardian on the west tower.
Rushing across the courtyard, he saw two Guardians squirming on the ground.
At the outer door of the Specialty Suite, he snatched the master key off its nail. He threw the door open and rushed in.
‘All right, ladies! Listen up! We’re gonna kill some vampires!’
