for a moment; then he walked to where I stood waiting and passed it to me.
'I would like you to open that,' he said, and when I did so I found a small, ornate box made of mahogany, secured with a stout brass hasp. 'Open the box, and remove what is inside.'
I had no idea what to expect; but any words I might have said failed me when I undid the hasp, opened the lid, and found inside the box a revolver. I looked up at De Vere, who wore a mirthless smile.
'It belonged to a man who thought to use it on me, some years ago,' he said simply. 'That man died. I think you will find, if you look, that it is loaded.'
I opened the chamber, and saw that it was so. I am by no means an expert with firearms, but the bullets seemed to be almost tarnished, as with great age. I closed the chamber, and glanced at De Vere.
'Now we are going to go over to the edge of the crevasse, and you are going to shoot me.' The words were said matter-of-factly, and what followed was in the same dispassionate tone, as if he were speaking of the weather, or what he planned to serve for dinner that evening. 'Stand close, so as not to miss. When you return to camp you will tell them that we came too near to the edge of the crevasse, that a mass of snow collapsed under me, and that there was nothing you could do. I doubt that any blame or stigma will attach to you-not with your reputation-and while it may be difficult for you for a time, you will perhaps take solace in the fact that you will not see Walker again, and that Castleton's health will soon improve.' He paused. 'I am sorry about them both; more than I can say.' Then he added some words in an undertone, which I did not quite catch; one word sounded like 'hungry,' and another like 'tired,' but in truth I was so overwhelmed that I was barely in a position to make sense of anything. One monstrous fact alone stood out hard and clear, and I struggled to accept it.
'Are you… are you ill, then?' I asked at last, trying to find some explanation at which my mind did not rebel. 'Some disease that will claim you?'
'If you want to put it that way, yes; a disease. If that makes it easier for you.' He reached out and put a hand on my arm. 'You have been friendly, and I have not had many that I could call a friend. I thank you, and ask you to do this one thing for me; and, in the end, for all of you.'
I looked into his eyes, dark as thunderclouds, and recalled our conversation on board the ship following Walker 's death, and for a moment had a vision of something dark and terrible. I thought of the look on Walker 's face-or the thing that I had thought was Walker -when I had seen it the night before. 'Will you end up like him?' I asked suddenly, and De Vere seemed to know to what I referred, for he shook his head.
'No, but if you do not do this then others will,' he said simply. I knew then how I must act. He obviously saw the look of resolution in my face, for he said again, quietly, 'Thank you,' then turned and began walking towards the crevasse in the ice.
I cannot write in detail of what followed in the next few minutes. I remained beside the crevasse, staring blankly down into the depths which now held him, and it was only with considerable effort that I finally roused myself enough to stumble back to the dogs, which had at last quietened. The trip back to camp was a blur of white, and I have no doubt that, when I stumbled down the final stretch of the path, I appeared sufficiently wild-eyed and distraught that my story was accepted without question.
The Guvnor had a long talk with me this morning when I woke, unrefreshed, from a troubled sleep. He appears satisfied with my answers, and while he did upbraid me slightly for failing to take a third person with us-as that might have helped avert the tragedy-he agreed that the presence of another would probably have done nothing to help save De Vere.
Pray God he never finds out the truth.
15 February: More than a week since De Vere's death, and I have not seen Walker in that time. Castleton, too, is much improved, and appears well on the way to regaining his full health.
Subsequent sledge parties have inspected the crevasse, and agree that it was a terrible accident, but one that could not have been avoided. I have not been up on the plateau since my trip with De Vere. My thoughts continually turn to the man whom I left there, and I recall what Cook wrote more than one hundred years ago. He was speaking of this place; but the words could, I think, equally be applied to De Vere: 'Doomed by nature never once to feel the warmth of the sun's rays, but to be buried in everlasting snow and ice.'
A soft flutter of leaves whispered like a sigh as Emily finished reading. The last traces of day had vanished, leaving behind shadows which pooled at the corners of the room. She sat in silence for some time, her eyes far away; then she closed the journal gently, almost with reverence, and placed it on the table beside her. The writer's card stared up at her, and she considered it.
'He would not understand,' she said at last. 'And they are all dead; they can neither explain nor defend themselves or their actions.' She looked at her father's photograph, now blurred in the gathering darkness. 'Yet you did not destroy this.' She touched the journal with fingers delicate as a snowflake. 'You left it for me to decide, keeping this a secret even from my mother. You must have thought that I would know what to do.'
Pray God he never finds out the truth.
She remained in her chair for some moments longer. Then, with some effort, Emily rose from her chair and, picking up the journal, crossed once more to the rosewood desk and its shadows. She placed the journal in its drawer, where it rested beside a pipe which had lain unsmoked for decades. The ceramic cat watched with blank eyes as she turned out the light. In so doing she knocked the card to the floor, where it lay undisturbed.
Infestation by Garth Nix
Garth Nix is the bestselling author of the Old Kingdom series, The Seventh Tower series, and The Keys to the Kingdom series. He is the winner of nine Aurealis Awards, given to best works of SF/fantasy by Australian writers. His short fiction has appeared in such venues as Eidolon, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Jim Baen's Universe, and in the anthology Fast Ships, Black Sails. Before becoming a full-time writer, he worked in a variety of careers in publishing, including publicist, editor, and literary agent.
Most authors imagine vampires skulking in the shadows, their existence suspected but never confirmed by the outside world. But there are notable exceptions. In Richard Matheson's classic I Am Legend, vampires have completely taken over the world, and a lone survivor uses science to try to puzzle out their nature. In Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series, various bureaucracies have grown up to deal with vampires, who live openly. This story is another in that mode. Here, vampires, law, and technology all intersect-in more ways than you might expect. You've probably never read a vampire story quite like this one.
They were the usual motley collection of freelance vampire hunters. Two men, wearing combinations of jungle camouflage and leather. Two women, one almost indistinguishable from the men though with a little more style in her leather armour accessories, and the other looking like she was about to assault the south face of a serious mountain. Only her mouth was visible, a small oval of flesh not covered by balaclava, mirror shades, climbing helmet and hood.
They had the usual weapons: four or five short wooden stakes in belt loops; snap-holstered handguns of various calibers, all doubtless chambered with Wood-N- Death® low-velocity timber-tipped rounds; big silver-edged bowie or other hunting knife, worn on the hip or strapped to a boot; and crystal vials of holy water hung like small grenades on pocket loops.
Protection, likewise, tick the usual boxes. Leather neck and wrist guards; leather and woven-wire reinforced chaps and shoulder pauldrons over the camo; leather gloves with metal knuckle plates; Army or climbing helmets.
And lots of crosses, oh yeah, particularly on the two men. Big silver crosses, little wooden crosses, medium-sized turned ivory crosses, hanging off of everything they could hang off.
In other words, all four of them were lumbering, bumbling mountains of stuff that meant that they would be easy meat for all but the newest and dumbest vampires.
They all looked at me as I walked up. I guess their first thought was to wonder what the hell I was doing there, in the advertised meeting place, outside a church at 4:30 pm on a winter's day while the last rays of the sun were supposedly making this consecrated ground a double no-go zone for vampires.
'You're in the wrong place, surfer boy,' growled one of the men.
I was used to this reaction. I guess I don't look like a vampire hunter much anyway, and I particularly didn't look like one that afternoon. I'd been on the beach that morning, not knowing where I might head to later, so I was still wearing a yellow Quiksilver T-shirt and what might be loosely described as old and faded blue board shorts, but 'ragged' might be more accurate. I hadn't had shoes on, but I'd picked up a pair of sandals on the way. Tan Birkenstocks, very comfortable. I always prefer sandals to shoes. Old habits, I guess.
I don't look my age, either. I always looked young, and nothing's changed, though 'boy' was a bit rough coming from anyone under forty-five, and the guy who'd spoken was probably closer to thirty. People older than that usually leave the vampire hunting to the government, or paid professionals.
'I'm in the right place,' I said, matter-of-fact, not getting into any aggression or anything. I lifted my 1968-vintage vinyl Pan-Am airline bag. 'Got my stuff here. This is the meeting place for the vampire hunt?'
'Yes,' said the mountain-climbing woman.
'Are you crazy?' asked the man who'd spoken to me first. 'This isn't some kind of doper excursion. We're going up against a nest of vampires!'
I nodded and gave him a kind smile.
'I know. At least ten of them, I would say. I swung past and had a look around on the way here. At least, I did if you're talking about that condemned factory up on the river heights.'
'What! But it's cordoned off-and the vamps'll be dug in till nightfall.'
'I counted the patches of disturbed earth,' I explained. 'The cordon was off. I guess they don't bring it up to full power till the sun goes down. So, who are you guys?'
