“Right.”
“She tries to charm her way out, to talk her way out, she even eats one of the doctors but it’s no good. You’re sitting on her, just waiting for her to do something bad so you can punish her. She can’t just give up, though. She’s going to live forever, locked up in a withered corpse of a body forever, so the only option is to keep planning an escape, even if it takes twenty years to pull off. She’s getting a little blood but not enough to sustain her. She needs more muscle. So she creates three vampires.”
“More likely she created one of them and he created the other two—it would involve less direct risk for her.”
Caxton clucked her tongue. “Why three, though?. Why do they even need to bring the blood to her? One vampire could just steal her, coffin and all, and hide her where we’ll never find her. Then he could bring her back on his own timetable.”
“Her body is too frail to be moved around like that. If she broke in two pieces right now she might never have the strength to put herself back together. She needs to walk out of Arabella Furnace under her own power.”
Caxton added that to her store of facts. “Okay. So the big plan is to bring blood to her, the way Lares used to. But a lot of blood this time, enough to completely heal her. To make that happen she creates a vampire. He goes out into the woods and takes over Farrel Morton’s hunting camp, makes it his base of operations. He creates some half-deads to keep the place going and creates two more vampires. For months they stay on the down low, eating migrant workers, not showing themselves.
Biding their time. But why? Why haven’t they tried to free Malvern yet? Do vampires get stronger over time?”
“No—they’re never stronger than the first night they rise to hunt.”
Caxton nodded. “So the longer they wait the weaker they get, and the more risk they have to live with. Risk that somebody’s going to wander by the hunting camp and notice that it’s been turned into a mausoleum. Which is in fact pretty much what did happen. If that half-dead hadn’t come up against my sobriety check we wouldn’t know that any of this was going on. Farrel Morton shows up with his kids, looking for a weekend in the woods. He finds himself in a house of horrors instead. The vampires are so afraid of being discovered that they send a half-dead to dump the bodies somewhere else, to make it look like Morton never even went to the camp.
Why go to such lengths? When it didn’t work they had to leave home so fast they left their coffins behind. They’ve got to be desperate by now.”
Arkeley nodded.
“Desperate enough to attack the hospital?”
“Malvern’s plan isn’t ready to be put into action, not yet. She can be an astonishingly patient creature, when it suits her. Still, she doesn’t waste opportunities. She’ll have a backup plan and she will put it into action as soon as possible. Still, I don’t expect an attack right away. I believe I know why the three of them were biding their time.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s simple logistics. She needs a certain quantity of blood. Three vampires couldn’t bring her enough blood to fully revivify her. Four of them could. They were going to make another one.”
“Christ. But now—they’re down to two, half of what they need. That’s something, right? It’s a good thing.”
Arkeley scowled at her. “It buys us some time, that’s all.”
Caxton looked up. While they’d been sitting there talking the last of the afternoon had faded away. A streak of yellow marked the western horizon—the sun was going down. In perhaps fifteen minutes it would be dark. “People,” she said, “are going to die tonight, one way or the other.”
Arkeley didn’t bother to confirm it. He was too busy reaching for the Blackberry that buzzed urgently in his jacket pocket. When her cell phone began to ring as well she knew something must have happened. Something bad.
19.
Caxton drove fast but safe, keeping her wheels on the road. The blue flasher on the dashboard played hell with her night vision but she’d trained for this. When they reached Farrel Morton’s hunting camp she switched off the flasher and her headlights and rolled up in darkness. No need to make themselves a target.
An hour earlier, at dusk, the state troopers stationed at the camp had failed to report in on schedule. They were good men with a lot of years experience between them—they wouldn’t just have forgotten to call headquarters. The local cop had called Troop J dispatch and told them he would drop by and see what had happened. He expected the troopers were having radio trouble. He’d reported back twenty minutes later with the news that the troopers were nowhere to be found. He was going to take a look around the surrounding woods and see what he could turn up. He had not called since and his cell phone rang for a while and then went to voicemail.
The sheriff was sending two units. Troop J out of Lancaster was sending every available car. Caxton and Arkeley hadn’t waited to hear what came next. They were the closest to the camp and Arkeley seemed to like it that way.
“You’re almost smiling,” she said as she took the key out of the ignition. “You hoping that somehow this is all a big misunderstanding, that everybody’s okay?”
“No,” he told her. “I’m hoping this is exactly what it looks like. I’m hoping we get a second vampire tonight. I doubt it, though. They aren’t stupid.”
Caxton popped the trunk of the unmarked patrol car. She lifted out a riot shotgun and slung it over her shoulder, a Remington 870. The weapon had a shortened barrel and no buttstock so it was easier to carry around, and a black coating so it wouldn’t glimmer in the low light. It would be worthless against vampires—the relatively small
#1 buckshot was meant to stop a human being in his tracks, but it wouldn’t even penetrate vampiric skin. Against half-deads it might be more effective.
“They weren’t supposed to come back here,” she said, closing the trunk as quietly as possible. “That was the idea, right? It was too dangerous for the vampires to come back. They would know we were watching the place. They left their coffins behind and they weren’t coming back for them. That’s what you told me.”
“Are you going to blame me,” he asked, “when we don’t even know what happened yet?”
Caxton pumped the shotgun to put a round in the chamber. With her other hand she unlatched the holster of her pistol. “You want to lead?” she asked..
“With that kind of firepower behind me? Not a chance, you’d cut me in half at the first sign of any danger. You go first and I’ll cover you.”
The camp was dark, only a single light burning on the side of the building. It made the shadows deeper. She headed around the side of the kitchen wing, staying low, the shotgun pointing straight up. She came to an open window and decided to chance it. She flicked on the flashlight mounted to the top of the shotgun and checked to make sure he had her back. He did, of course. He might not like her very much but he was a skilled cop. Caxton stood up and pointed her light inside the house. Nobody jumped out at her so she took a quick look, panning the light from one side of the room to the other just as she’d been taught.
She saw what she’d expected. Stove. Refrigerator. Piles of bones. A half-dead could have hidden anywhere in the room, in the shadows, out of her beam of light.
She didn’t see any movement, though. She circled the house with Arkeley following behind her, covering her.
When she got to the back of the house, near the stream, a harsh, cackling laugh wafted through the trees and ran cold down her spine. She froze and ducked down into a firing squat and scanned the darkness all around. Her flashlight rippled across the trees on the far side of the stream and stopped when she found the source of the laugh. A half-dead was hanging in one of the trees. No, not hanging. It was secured to the tree with lengths of baling wire, its arms and legs bound securely. Only its head could move.
She thought immediately of the dead people wired into sitting postures in the camp’s living room. “Don’t fucking move!” she shrieked.
The creep laughed again. The sound of it irritated her. It got on her skin and made her feel grimy, like he skin was crawling with dirt and cold sweat. “Oh, I promise,” it said. Its voice wasn’t human at all, nor was it anything
