“ Don’t even start,” Stone said. “We’re safer if we stay together. I don’t trust this place one bit.”
They all were all on edge. If someone figured out they were from Thornn, the militia would come gunning for them without a moment’s hesitation…especially that portion of the militia that bore fangs.
“ I may have found a place where we can find a tracker,” Stone said after he took drink.
“ Really?” Cross asked.
“ You were only at the bar for two minutes…” Graves said quietly.
“ I have a way with people.”
“ What way?” Graves laughed quietly. Their conversation was undoubtedly the loudest in the tavern, even though they spoke barely above a whisper. “Your idea of a conversation is usually an insult followed by a rabbit punch.”
“ That reminds me, I owe you a rabbit punch,” Stone said.
“ Well?” Cross asked.
“ The bartender said we should try a place called the White Spider. It’s a gambling hall, brothel…our kind of place. She said we might have some luck finding a certain individual who works off the beaten path.”
“ Well okay, then,” Cross said.
“ What?”
“ Nothing.” Cross couldn’t say why, but the mention of The White Spider bothered him…which made no sense, because prior to Stone mentioning it he’d never even heard of the place.
“ Good,” Stone said. “Let’s finish our drinks and get up to the room.”
Cross kept his uncertainties to himself, chalking them up to fatigue and paranoia.
Renting the room took nearly all of their pooled local coin. They didn’t have much. Southern Claw currency was not only useless in Dirge, but it would give away who they really were in a matter of moments.
The room was as plain and as boring as Cross knew it would be, with only a single bed, a vacant wardrobe, and a bathroom with no mirror, which was hardly a surprise given the town’s stance on vampires. One small window let in filtered gray and white light that helped relieve the room’s otherwise oppressive atmosphere.
They slept in shifts in spite of their fatigue. Someone was up and on watch while the other two slept back to back on the small bed. Cross, despite the misgivings of the other two, took the first watch — he was wired with anxiety, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for quite some time, regardless of how tired he felt.
He sat in the room’s single chair, with his pistol in his hand and Graves’ shotgun on his lap. Cross leaned the chair back against the wall and kept his eyes on the locked door and window.
Most of the sounds that he heard over the course of that night were perfectly normal, things one could hear in any city: muted conversations, industrial machines at work in the distance, the steam whistles of local trains blaring through the night, laughter, even an occasional bout of drunken song.
But there were other sounds, things he’d expected to hear but hadn’t wanted to, that reminded Cross he was in a town controlled by vampires: guttural undead throat songs that floated down from the rooftops, the sound of bodies flying through the air like rags caught in the wind, the whisper of demonic voices, and the garble of unguarded telepathic refuse intentionally released to intimidate the populace.
Cross also heard the feedings.
The vampires never desired the outright elimination of an armistice town. Such would defeat the purpose of having allowed it to surrender in the first place, since by even allowing the town to do so the vampires must have had some future plans for it. Had that not been the case, slaughter would have been the first option. But the blood tax was heavy, and after dark all unguarded humans were fair game. The vampires would, by agreement, never enter a closed or sealed home or business, so if you were smart enough to lock your doors and shut your windows at night, to block off your fireplace and seal your doors, then you had nothing to fear. But if you didn’t, or if you ventured out of doors and were spotted by the undead, you were nothing but a meal.
The stipulation should have been simple for anyone to follow, but Cross had heard tales of those who’d defied the blood tax. There were drunks or other homeless persons caught in the open streets, people driven outside by emergencies but who felt confident they could make it in and out of doors before it was too late, children who doomed their entire families because they managed to force a window open while they were playing, or households wiped out simply because someone forgot to properly close the door. Even when it meant life or death, mistakes happened.
The sound of a feeding was impossible to ignore. Cross heard the smack of teeth, and sucking sounds so loud he swore they came from there in the room. He heard pained moans and animal barks. It amused him to think that once, so very long ago, these creatures had been painted as romantics by fiction writers. They were animals, pure and simple, vicious of heart, evil of spirit, malign in their sole drive to wipe humanity out.
Cross waited, watching. His heart raced and his skin was flushed with cold sweat, for even though he knew they were safe he still expected a vampire to crash into the room at any moment.
He was only on watch for about two hours. It felt like twelve.
He remembered hiding beneath buildings while he listened to other children squeal in pain while they were slaughtered. Some things he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.
Cross’ sleep, once it was his turn to do so, was fitful, filled with nightmares of gore-covered black unicorns who chased him through a silver glade at the base of a jagged mountain. There were women trapped there with him, and though they ran, none of them escaped.
I’ve seen this before.
In the morning, not feeling refreshed at all, Cross checked over Winter’s battery pack and chemical engines to make sure they were still in good working order. Graves had the last watch, and he sat in the same spot that Cross had, his shotgun in hand. He spun a throwing knife back and forth between his fingers.
“ All good?” he asked.
“ All good.” Cross packed everything away. All of their gear was out of sight, and ready to move. “Stone’s been gone for a while, hasn’t he?”
“ He’s grabbing breakfast.” Graves looked at him. “What’s eating you?”
“ The White Spider,” Cross said. “Something about the name of that place is familiar. And it’s bugging the hell out of me.”
“ Try not to worry about it,” Graves said after he pondered a moment. “And try not to think about…you know.” When Cross didn’t answer, Graves leaned close. “Hang in there, man. Things will work out.”
“ Right,” Cross said bitterly. “Let me ask you something, Sam: when was the last time something ‘worked out’ for us?”
Graves thought for a moment. The early morning light came through their east-facing window and cast half of his scarred face in shadow.
“ About three years ago,” Graves said, “This was before you joined Wolf Company. I was squad leader for a perimeter patrol. The Sorn had been sending skull drones to scout for refugees or farmers to take back to their mines. Anyways, we were out near the Razortooth, and we saw this broken down caravan. It kind of looked like a wagon train from the old west, but even at a glance we could tell it hadn’t been touched in years. We were going to investigate — not for survivors, just for supplies — but before we could, we were called back to drive some Bloodwolves away from one of the research towers. Anyways, we didn’t get back to check out the caravan for another couple of days, and lo and behold, when we finally got back to it we found two dead Sorn, blown to bits. It turns out the caravan was a trap: there was an Ebon Cities necrobomb rigged to the wagon, set to explode if anyone poked around at it. The Sorn who set it off were the very same ones we’d been sent to find in the first place. So in the end, the raids stopped, and I didn’t even lose any men in the process.” Graves smiled. “So yeah… that worked out pretty well.”
“ That was dumb luck,” Cross said after a moment.
“ How is that different from ‘just working out’? Look, I realize that the world is shit, but that doesn’t mean that good things never happen.” He thought for a moment. “Things will work out. You have to believe that sometimes.”
Cross shrugged.
“ Sorry, I have trouble seeing it right now. And I’m extremely suspicious of this place we’re going to.”
“ You haven’t even been there,” Graves said.
“ I know, I know,” Cross said. His mind was stressed to the point of snapping. He couldn’t stop thinking about Snow, wondering what Red had done to her, or would do to her…or was doing to her at that very moment…
