Thirst No. 1 Page 8

  Several miles go by. The breathing of the people around me begins to slow, to lengthen and deepen. They are relaxing, except for the woman. They think the difficult part is over. Careful, I test the strength of the cuffs. The metal is incredibly hard. I will not be able to break it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get around. I can hop, even bound, far more quickly than any mortal can run. I might be able to grab one of the automatic weapons from the lap of one of the men across from me and shoot and kill most of the people in the limousine before they can shoot me back. Then again, the woman might put a bullet in my brain first. Also, I know the car behind us is operating under strict instructions. The pattern in the abduction is clear. If they see me attacking, they will open fire without hesitation. Everyone in the first limousine will die, and I will be one of them. This is why there are two cars, not one.

  I must try another way.

  I let another thirty minutes go by. Then I speak.

  “Slim. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” he says.

  “I have to go bad. I drank an entire bottle of Coke before meeting you.”

  “I don’t care. We are not stopping.”

  “I’ll pee all over the seat. You’ll have to sit in it.”

  “Pee if you must.”

  “I will do it.”

  He doesn’t respond. More miles go by. Since Slim carried the cuffs, I decide he must be the one who has the key to open them. The arm of the woman beside me begins to tire. She lowers her weapon hand: I hear the rustling of her clothing. I estimate our speed to be sixty miles an hour. We are maybe fifty miles south of Water Cove. Seaside is approaching; I can hear the town up ahead; the two all night gas stations; the twenty-four-hour doughnut shop.

  “Slim,” I say.

  “What?”

  “I have a problem besides having to pee.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m having my period. I have to get to a rest room. I need only two minutes. You and your lady friend can come with me into the rest room. You can point your guns at me the whole time if you want, I don’t care. If you do not stop, we will have a mess here and we will have it soon.”

  “We are not stopping.”

  I raise my voice. “This is ridiculous! I am bound hand and foot. You are armed left and right. I just have to go to the bathroom for two minutes. For God’s sake, what kind of sick person are you? Do you like piss and blood?”

  Slim considers. I hear him lean forward and glance at the woman. “What do you think?” he asks.

  “We are not supposed to stop for any reason,” she says.

  “Yeah, but what the hell.” He adds a line, and as he does so, I hear my implanted suggestion. “What harm can she do?”

  “She must be guarded at all times,” the woman insists.

  “I already said you two can follow me into the rest room,” I say.

  “So we have your permission?” the woman asks sarcastically. The sound of her voice is aggravating. She is from Germany—the east side. I hope she follows me into the bathroom. I have a surprise for her. “I have no sanitary napkins,” she says.

  “I will use whatever is available,” I say softly.

  “It is up to you,” the woman says to Slim.

  He considers, studying me, I know. Then he decides. “Hell, call the others. Tell them we’re stopping at the first gas station. We’ll pull around back.”

  “They won’t like that,” the man up front says.

  “Tell them they can talk to me if they are worried,” Slim says. He turns toward me. “Happy?”

  “Thank you,” I say in my velvety voice. “I won’t cause any problems. You really can accompany me if you want.”

  “You can be sure I will, sister,” Slim says—as if it were his own idea. I want those keys.

  The call is made. We slow as we enter Seaside. The driver spots a gas station. I hear the all-night attendant making change. We drive around the side, the second limousine close behind us. The car stops. Slim opens his door.

  “Stay here,” he says.

  We wait for Slim to return. The woman has her gun pointed at my head again. She just doesn’t like my looks, I suppose. But the men are relaxed. They are thinking, all this security for what? Slim comes back. I hear him unholster his weapon.

  “There will be two of us on you,” he says. “Don’t get smart.”

  “You have to take this thing off my eyes,” I say. “I’ll make a mess if I can’t see.”

  Of course I can reach up and remove it myself, when I make my move. But to have it removed now will save me the extra step. Also, I want my vision to plan when to attack. Finally, by asking them to take it off, I emphasize my helplessness.

  “Any other requests?” Slim asks.

  “No.”

  He reaches over and pulls off the mask. “Happy?”

  I smile at him, grateful. “I will be when I get in the bathroom.”

  He stares at me, doubt and confusion touching his face. “Who the hell are you?”

  “A girl with a bad attitude,” I say.

  The woman pokes her pistol at my temple. “Get out. You have two minutes. No more.”

  I climb out of the car. The guys in the other limousine are all out, their weapons hidden but handy. They form a wall between me and the front of the gas station. I hope none of them accompanies me into the rest room. But Slim and the woman are determined to stay with me. I give the watching gang a timid smile as I shuffle past. They chew gum. They stare at my body. They, too, wonder what all the fuss is about. The woman goes into the bathroom first. I follow, Slim on my tail. No one else comes in. The door closes behind us.

  I strike immediately. I have it all planned.

  In a move too fast for a mortal eye to follow, I whirl and knock Slim’s pistol away. Raising my cuffed hands over my head, I bring them down on top of his skull. I use only a fraction of my strength; I want to stun him, no more. He topples to the floor as the woman turns, bringing up her gun. I kick it from her hand by lashing out with both my feet. She blinks as I land upright. She opens her mouth to say something when I grab her face with both my hands. My grip is ferocious; there is blood even before I kill her, around her eyes. My nails destroy her vision permanently.

  There is lots more blood when I smash the back of her head on the tiled wall. The plaster cracks under the blow sending up a miniature cloud of white dust shot through with streaks of red. Likewise her skull cracks, in many places. She sags in my arms, the blood from her mortal wounds soaking the front of my leather jacket. She is dead; I let her drop.

  The door is closed but not locked. Quickly I press it tight and lock it. At my feet Slim lets out a moan. I reach down and grab him and press him against the wall beside the stain of the dead woman’s brains. My hands go around his throat. Perhaps five seconds have elapsed since we entered the bathroom. Slim winces and opens his eyes. They focus quickly when they see me.

  “Slim,” I say softly. “Look around you. Look at your dead partner. Her brains are leaking out of her head. She’s a mess—it’s terrible. I’m a terrible person. I’m also a very strong person. You can feel how strong I am, can’t you? That’s why your boss wanted you to be so careful with me. You can’t screw with me and get away with it. Please don’t even consider it. Now, let me tell you what I want. Reach in your pocket and pull out the key to these cuffs. Unlock them. Don’t shout out to the others. If you do these things, then maybe I will let you go. If you don’t, your brains will be all over the floor like your partner’s. Think about it for a moment, if you want, but don’t think too long. You can see what an impatient person I am.”

  He stammers. “I don’t have the keys.”

  I smile. “Bad answer, Slim. Now I will have to go through your pockets and find them. But I’ll have to make sure you’re lying perfectly still while I do so. I’m going to have to kill you.”

  He’s scared. He can hardly talk. He accidentally steps in the mess dripping out
of the woman’s head. “No. Wait. Please. I have the keys. I will give you the keys.”

  “That’s good. Good for you.” I release my grip slightly. “Undo the locks. Remember, if you shout out, you die.”

  His hands shake badly. All his training has not prepared him for me. His eyes keep straying to what I have done to the woman’s head. A crumpled accordion of bloody assault. Finally, though, Slim gets my cuffs off. My relief at being free is great. Once more, I feel my usual invincibility. I am a wolf among sheep. The slaughter will be a pleasure. I toss the cuffs in the wastebasket. Just then someone knocks at the door. I press my fingers deep into the sides of Slim’s throat.

  “Ask what it is,” I say. I let go just enough to allow him to speak.

  He coughs. “What is it?”

  “Everything okay in there?” a man asks. They have heard noise.

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” Slim says.

  The man outside tries the doorknob. Of course it is locked. “What’s happening?” the man asks. He is the suspicious type, to be sure.

  “Everything is cool,” I whisper.

  “Everything is cool,” Slim manages. It is no wonder the guy outside doesn’t believe Slim; he sounds like he’s about to weep. The guy outside tries the door again.

  “Open the door,” he demands.

  “If we go out that way,” I ask Slim, “will they shoot us both?”

  He croaks. “Yes.”

  I study the bathroom. The wall against which I hold Slim is completely tiled; it appears to be the thickest wall in the rest room. But the wall behind the lone toilet looks flimsy. I suspect on the other side of it might be the late-night attendant’s office space. Keeping Slim pinned with my left hand, I reach down and pick up the dead woman’s automatic weapon.

  “We are going to go through that wall there,” I say. “I will kick it in, then we will move. I don’t want you wrestling with me. If you do, I will rip out your throat. Now tell me, what is behind this gas station? A field? Another building? A road?”

  “Trees.”

  “Trees like in the forest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” I drag him into the stall. “Prepare yourself for a fun ride.”

  Still holding on to Slim, I leap into the air several feet and plant three swift kicks on the wall above the toilet. It splinters and I break through what is left of it with a slash of my right arm. We enter the all-night attendant’s office. Before he can turn to identify us, I strike him on the back of the head. He goes down, probably still alive. I kick open the door to the outside. The fresh air is sweet after the staleness of the rest room. Behind me I hear the bathroom door being broken down. There are shocked gasps when they see what I have done to poor Miss Germany.

  Dragging Slim, I come around the two parked limos from behind. There are men inside the rest room, more hovering at the door, still more getting out of the first limo. I raise the automatic weapon, an Uzi, and let loose a spray of bullets. Screams rent the air. Several of the men go down. Others reach for their guns. I empty the clip in their direction and drop the Uzi to the ground. I don’t need it, I am a vampire. I need only my natural power.

  In a blur, still holding on to Slim, I cross the parking lot and enter the trees. A trail of bullets chases us. One of them catching me in the butt, the right cheek. The wound burns, but I don’t mind. The woods are mainly pine, some spruce. A hill rises above us, a quarter of a mile to the top. I pull Slim to the pinnacle, and then back down the other side. A stream crosses our path and we splash through it. The old belief is not true; running water does not bind my steps.

  By now I have badly wrenched Slim’s neck. Behind us I hear men entering the forest, six of them, spreading out, searching for us. I can hear others at the gas station, moaning in pain, the sputtering breath of still others dying. I literally pick Slim off his feet and carry him a half mile upstream, running faster than a deer in her prime, even with the bullet in me. Then I throw Slim down behind a cluster of bushes. I straddle his chest. He looks up at me with eyes wide with fear. I must be little more than a shadow in his vision. Yet I can see him perfectly. I reach around to my back side, digging my fingers into the torn tissue. I pull out the bullet and toss it aside. The wound begins to heal immediately.

  “Now we can talk,” I say.

  “W-who?” he stutters. I lean over, my face in his.

  “That is the magic question,” I say. “Who sent you after me?”

  He is struggling for breath, although I am no longer holding him by the throat. “You are so strong. How is it possible?”

  “I am a vampire.”

  He coughs. “I don’t understand.”

  “I am five thousand years old. I was born before recorded history began. I am the last of my kind . . . I believe I am the last. But the person who sent you after me knew of my great strength. You were carefully prepared. That person must know that I am a vampire. I want that person.” I breathe on his face and know he feels the chill of the Grim Reaper. “Tell me who he is, where I can find him.”

  He is in shock. “Is this possible?”

  “You have seen a demonstration of my power. Do you really want me to give you another one?”

  He trembles. “If I tell you, will you let me live?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He swallows thickly, perspiring heavily. “We work out of Switzerland. I have only met my boss a few times. His name is Graham—Rick Graham. He is very wealthy. I do odd jobs for him, my people and I. Two years ago he set us searching for someone who fit your description.”

  “How did he describe me?”

  “The way you look. Other things as well. He said you would be rich, private, have no family. He said there would be mysterious deaths connected with your name.”

  “Did he know my name?”

  “No.”

  “Has he had you look for anyone else?”

  “No. Only someone who fit your description.” He grimaces in pain. “Could you get off me? I think you broke several of my ribs when you pulled me through the trees.”

  “You were not concerned about my comfort in the car.”

  “I stopped to let you go to the bathroom.”

  “That was your mistake.” My voice is cold.

  He is very afraid. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “What is Graham’s address? Is he in Switzerland?”

  “He is never in one place. He travels constantly.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why. Maybe he looks for you.”

  “But is he on the West Coast now? In Oregon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He is telling the truth. “But you were taking me to him tonight, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t know. We were to drive you to San Francisco. I was to call from a certain phone booth. I can give you the number. It is in Switzerland.”

  “Say it.” He gives me the number. I consider. “I faxed you in Switzerland earlier tonight. Yet you were here. It is possible Graham is here as well?”

  “It is possible. We have relays.”

  “Do you have a business card, Slim?”

  “What?”

  “A card. Give me your card.”

  “My wallet is in my front right pocket.”

  I rip away his pocket. “So it is.” I stuff the wallet in my back pocket. My pants are soaked with blood, some of my own, some of the woman’s. In the distance I hear two of the men coming my way. Farther off I hear a police siren, heading south on Coast Highway. The men hear it as well. I can practically read their thoughts, they are so obvious. This woman is a monster. If she has Slim, Slim is dead. She will probably kill us if we do catch up with her. The police are coming. We’d better get the hell out of here and chalk it up to a bad night.

  The men reverse their direction, back toward the gas station. I lovingly stroke the sides of Slim’s face. Of course there is no possibility I will let him live.

  “Why do you wor
k for Graham?” I ask.

  “The money.”

  “I see. Tell me what Graham looks like?”

  “He is tall, six three maybe. His hair is dark. He wears it long.”

  Now I am the one who trembles. “What color are his eyes?”

  “Blue.”

  “Pale blue?”

  “Yes. They are frightening.”

  My voice whispers. “Like mine?”

  “Yes. God, please don’t kill me. I can help you, miss. I really can.”

  Yaksha.

  It is not possible, I think, after all this time. The stories, why did I listen to them? Just because they said he was dead? He probably invented them. But why does he come for me now? Or is that the most foolish question of all? These people had orders to shoot if I so much as burped. He must want me dead.

  He must be afraid of what Krishna told him.

  “You have helped me enough,” I tell Slim.

  He pants. “What are you going to do? Don’t do it!”

  My fingers reach down to his throat, my long nails caressing the big veins beneath his flesh. “I told you what I am. And I’m hungry. Why shouldn’t I suck you dry? You are no saint. You kill without conscience. At least when someone dies in my arms, I think kind thoughts about him.”

  He cries, “Please! I don’t want to die.”

  I lean over. My hair smothers him.

  “Then you should never have been born,” I say.

  I open him up. I open my mouth.

  I take my pleasure slowly.

  SEVEN

  The body I bury beneath the stream. It is a favorite place of mine. Police seldom look under running water. I hear them in the distance, the law, at the gas station, maybe two black and whites. They have a shootout with the boys in the limos. The boys win. I hear them tear away at high speed. They are clever. I believe they will get away.

  Yet if I want them, I will have them later.

  More police can be heard approaching. I decide to exit the forest the back way. I jog through the trees, setting cross-country records. Six miles later finds me at a closed gas station on a deserted road. There is a phone booth. I think of calling Seymour Dorsten, my archery buddy. It is a mad thought. I would do better to keep running till I find a busier road, a few parked cars. I can hot-wire any car in less than a minute. I am soaked through with blood. It would be madness to involve Seymour in this night’s dirty business. He might tell his mother. Yet I want him involved. I trust the little guy. I don’t know why.