Night Plague: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (22 page)

Martin was dead.

Dead.

He shook his head, numbness ruining his limbs from the tips of his fingers and toes. He tried to get his arms to work – to raise him from the
floor. They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t do anything at all.

But as the man surged forward, from his brother to him, something shifted. The world turned red.

Mason lunged with swiftness and precision he’d never had before, straight for the throat. This time, he didn’t drink. He pulled, his fangs tearing through meat just as his brother had moments before. Something shook against his tongue and he yanked it out, ripping it like a scrap of paper. The screaming stopped. The man crumbled as the vampire ripped his windpipe from his spine and spat it to the floor with a red splash.

Mason recoiled, spitting and panting with an almost frantic horror. Unlike blood, flesh was sour and strange. Bile rose in the back of his throat and left him unable to speak
, even if he’d wanted to. His eyes drifted towards Martin’s still form before he could stop them.

No. He couldn’t grieve yet. He forced himself to breathe. There was just one man left, now. He shoved everything else aside and searched the room.
“Sorrel!”

Swal
ow wrestled with Sorrel, keeping his gun close to his throat to protect it. Her teeth thrust out for his wrist, but the barrel shoved her aside and smacked her in the jaw. His fingers wrapped around the trigger.

Mason surged, grasping the man’s shoulders with his fingernails, but before his teeth could
find flesh, Swalow whirled the gun around and fired. A bullet ripped through his neck with a savage bang.

He fell away, shrieking. He was alive.
Still alive. Yet the pain ate up his senses and turned his muscles into a tight ball of heat. He screamed, unable to do anything else. Even his voice garbled as the hole in his neck leaked air from his throat.

His vision shifted between black and white, and somewhere in the shades of gray, he saw the barrel pointed
at his forehead. “You aimed for the wrong arm.” The words spilled through his ears, nothing but a thick, noisy puddle. He could barely make them out, but they spread – a black tar seeping over what remained of his senses.

“Mason!” Sorrel leapt for Swal
ow’s throat, but her trembling limbs acted too quickly. He smacked the gun against her skull and sent her to the cement. Its barrel shifted from Mason’s head to hers.

“
Sor…ell…!”

He forced down another deep breath and fought to clear away the tar. He just sunk deeper, the dark fluid swallowing up what little light was left. He shook his head and everything around him whirled and danced, like something from a dream.

Was this…the end, then?

“Listen, Mason…
don’t let anyone write the ending but you.”

The voice was firm but soft, coming from lips set in a slender line. Unkempt strands of black hair fell over a pale face. “It’s fine to be a reader, a watcher, an observer, but don’t forget to write your own story. Others will try. They’ll think they know what’s best, or they’ll use you as a character in theirs. Don’t let them. Fight for your own happy ending.”

Mason couldn’t help a bitter chuckle. “Happy? There’s no happiness left. We’re all just waiting to die!” A strange vertigo swirled in his ribs. “I suppose I already have.”

“Happiness is everywhere. It doesn’t depend on time. It doesn’t depend on the future. It depends on the present. In the way the spring breeze smells, in the dance of a snowflake, in the warmth of your bed, in a book that you love, in the taste of your favorite meal, or in the grip of a loved one’s hand. You have to find it
. You have to realize it’s there. Don’t let dread hide it from you.” She breathed a small titter. “It’s a shame to let the future ruin the present, don’t you think?”

Mason shook his head. “But we have no hope left! It’s over! We’ve all already found our endings. All we can do is sit and wait until they’re written. Within four years, we’ll –”

“Hope is there, you just have to make it, yourself. No one will give it to you, but you only lose it when you surrender.” The woman smiled. “You have to keep walking forward with your eyes set on the sky. Nothing is impossible as long as you keep looking towards the sun.”

“…Mom?”

Mason’s eyes dragged themselves into focus. He was lying on his side, limbs splayed over the floor. The image faded, but the voice stayed with him. His mother. It was a pleasant memory. Warmth lingered on the tips of his fingers.

When had that happened…again? He’d been older – not a child – but he’d been young when she’d died, so…

Ah!

He remembered. It’d happened between his first ending and his second beginning.

He shivered, and as his eyes widened, he saw the gun. Martin’s gun, lying just a few feet away from his face. He was barely able to hook it with his fingers.

Sorrel…
Sorrel.

He fought the pain and hauled himself up, his left arm straining from effort while he raised the gun with his right. The recoil nearly knocked him over
as a shaky, untrained bullet flew in Swalow’s direction.

It left nothing but another useless dent in the human’s shield. He’d moved fast enough to stop the man from firing on Sorrel, but he once again found himself staring down the barrel.

Heh. His mother had been wrong.

No matter how hard he looked, there was no happiness or hope. Her words stayed at a cold, blank space in his mind. He was one of the evening seeds – the sun was no longer his.

He found himself looking away from the gun, eyes watching the place where the sky would have been.

Something registered in his head with a sharp flash – a segment of the ceiling was loose. The cement was st
rained and cracked, ready to fall. And it rested just above the human’s skull.

Adrenaline surged through his body – he pull
ed Martin’s trigger before Swalow could pull his. “Sorrel, move!”

The bullet hit the ceiling. At first, there was nothin
g. Then came a heavy snap. Swalow flinched, eyes widening at the sound, but he looked up too late.

The ceiling above him gave way with a series of cracks and a flurry of dust.

When it cleared, Swalow wasn’t standing there. There was only a hand jutting out from beneath the rubble. The first traces of crimson escaped the debris, gathering into a grim puddle.

Mason could hardly process the picture his senses were painting.

It’d worked…! It’d actually worked! Swalow…was gone.

“Mercy, we have to go!”

He had to blink a few times before Sorrel’s voice registered. His stiff, burning neck turned to find her kneeling by Mercy’s huddled figure. He’d nearly forgotten the doctor was there, and it was easy to see why – she really wasn't. Her mind was somewhere else.

Mercy’s fingernails clutched her forehead, digging in
as if they were trying to pull something out. Her voice quivered when she finally spoke. “T-the research… Our project! Take…take what’s in the…b-boxes. M-me and Cliff…were trying…” Her words broke into new sobs.

Mason shoved himself
up on shaking legs and grabbed what he could, moving through the room like he would through a dream. Pain from his neck pulsed up and down his spine – the only reminder that he was awake – but at least he’d regained control of his senses and body.

Sorrel helped Mercy to her feet, but
the doctor pushed her away. “I-I’ll help. I’ll…” She was unsteady, but she snatched up the rest of the boxes and dashed away before either of the younger vampires could stop her.

That was when Mason realized how quiet it was for the first time. The noise beyond the infirmary had died away. As Mercy’s broken footsteps faded, everything was silent.

For better or worse, it seemed the conflict was over.

Mason moved to follow, to leave that horrible room behind and face what awaited him outside, but his gaze
sagged to Martin’s motionless shape. He lay still on the floor, half open eyes staring at nothing beneath the hole in his head.

Useless, arrogant brother!

Yet, Martin was the only one he had. In the end, he’d been the only brother he needed, too. For once in his life, Martin had kept his word – he’d saved him. Mason’s cheeks were wet. …Why were they so wet?

An urge told him to close his brother’s eyes, but his hands were full. Before he could
set the boxes down, Sorrel knelt beside Martin and shut them, herself. She passed Mason a sad smile, straightening and padding to his side.

She kissed his forehead. “You did
good, you know.” She didn’t wait for an answer, already stepping beyond the black slit leading to the hallway.

Mason looked at Martin a last time.
Even as he stood, he felt the image burn into the back of his head. His brother's body, abandoned on the floor, with empty eyes watching him leave. He'd see it every time he closed his eyes.

A few minutes passed before he could find the air he needed to speak. “Say hi to Mom for me, will you?”
He swallowed. “And thank you, for everything.”

If only he could have said those words while Martin had still been alive.

Chapter Fifteen: The End of the World

Mason defied the exhaustion weighing down his legs and ran through the snow. Merril followed close behind, her hand in his, while Sorrel kept pace beside them. They blazed the sidewalk, from block to block and streetlight to streetlight.

It was just as Martin said. The outskirts of town were all but abandoned, but as they neared the center of the city, lights shown from windows. It wasn’t empty.

They finally stopped. There were people – lots of people – gathered not far ahead. People who no longer felt safe in their homes and people who had nowhere else to go.

The vampires couldn’t risk getting any closer. Mason stopped, swallowing hard as he stared at the whispering mass of bodies – of tangled, anxious lives.

The violence had ended by the time they’d left the infirmary. The attackers had been all but wiped out, and the last few remaining had been forced to retreat. The vampires had faced the same losses.

He’d found everyone gathered just outside when he’d gone back for Merril. Only seven or eight were left standing – for the second time, the prison’s population had decreased by nearly half. Many had died. Others had been stolen away for human research…and to lord only knew what fate.

They couldn’t stay. They were leaving the prison before sunrise. Where they were going, they didn’t know, but they’d search for more of their own people. The only safety they had was in numbers, and that was something they were desperately short on.

The last thing they had to do was pack up the project’s materials. They’d saved it
, and they'd saved one of the doctor’s working on it, too.

In wherever they ended up, perhaps Mercy would find new partners, or perhaps another group, somewhere, had already begun something similar. There had to be other scientists and doctors out there – other vampires who could aid them. He refused to believe anything else.

Death had stolen more than its fair share that night, but it hadn’t killed everything. Hope hadn’t died yet.

But that hope, that future, wasn’t Merril’s.

He turned to face her. Her cheeks glistened in the streetlight’s metallic glow, wet and red. They’d been that way since they’d returned without Martin. She’d never asked where he was – she knew.

He wrapped her hands in his and ran his fingers over the back of her palms. “Merril…it’s…” His voice was soft, quiet. He wanted to scream, but it’d do no good.
Nothing he could do or say could change anything. He needed to be strong. If he'd ever needed to, it was now. “All of us at the prison have to leave. We can’t stay here anymore.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” She answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She forced her eyes up to his. Her wavering irises belied the confidence in her voice.

Mason chewed his lip and forced air through his constricting throat. “No. It’s… It’s just like Martin said. Our human lives are already over. Yours isn’t.”

“I don’t want to leave!” New tears carved trails on her cheeks. “I don’t want –”

“We’re monsters. We
choose
to kill.” Even if their only other option was death, it was still a decision they made each time they murdered to survive. They were the ghosts of humanity. If a part of them was still human, they weren’t the kind that deserved the company of normal people living normal lives. They were the kind that deserved the prison they'd lived in. “Is that really what you want?”

She was silent, gaze slumping to the cement. “But I…I don’t know if I can make it without you. We’ve always –”

“You can.” Mason tightened his grip on her palms. “Your body might be frail, but your heart isn’t. Keep it beating for as long as you can.”

He gently raised her hands and set them against her chest, at the place where a melody throbbed that refused to silence.

He smiled. “After all, someone has to look after Molly and Tilly. You can still use the house, and I’m sure there are lots of people here in the same situation as you. They can help you.” His lips shifted to something more somber. “Look for happiness. It’s everywhere, no matter how long or how short it lasts. Make lots of good memories to take with you, and never forget me either, all right?”

Who could say what the future held?

Perhaps the vampires would complete their project. Perhaps they’d be able to live without killing – without the need for human company. Perhaps they were the seed that would birth the next harvest.

On the other hand,
perhaps it would fail. Perhaps the seed would wither away and die with the human race that’d spawned it.

Perhaps Cliff had been wrong. Perhaps humans would learn something by researching the unfortunate vampires they’d claimed. Perhaps they’d be able to salvage themselves and plant a new harvest. Perhaps the famine would end.

Or perhaps nothing would change. Perhaps time would just keep ticking away. Perhaps in another four years, every human heart would fall silent.

But none of that mattered. In that moment, in that small piece of the present, none of that mattered.

Merril looked up. Familiar green eyes – a shade of green he’d always remember – stared into his own. For those few seconds, he swore time stopped moving. He swore his hands were still warm. He swore there was still blood in his veins. He swore his heart still beat.

Then she nodded, and the illusion was shattered. She swallowed hard before she was able to speak. “I love you, Mason. I always have.”

Water dripped from his chin and dampened the snow below. “I love you, too.”

He did. He loved her too much to guide her towards death.

He let go of her hands. “I’ll see you again, one day, whether next year or in the next three hundred.” He closed his eyes. “Until then…” He smiled. “Just keep walking towards the sun.”

She nodded, body shivering. “Goodbye.”

He knelt down and kissed her forehead, hardly able to see her through the mist marring his vision. “Goodbye.”

Merril looked at him a last time,
and then she turned. She walked away, towards bodies that still projected heat.

Mason didn’t watch her leave. He spun and dragged himself in the direction of the prison. Sorrel followed, walking beside him while snow crunched beneath their boots. He never looked back, and never knew if Merril did, either.

For him, the end of the world had come four years too early. The one he'd grown up in was gone. Never again would he wake up in his bed and shower before hurrying off to school. Never again would he sit at the table for dinner with Martin and Merril. Never again would he stay up late watching movies in the solitude of his room. Never again would he curse his over-protective big brother. Never again would he sleep beside his best friend and long-time lover. Never again would he be able to call himself a good person.

He wondered how long it would be until this new world felt like home. He wondered if it ever would.

Sorrel turned to catch his gaze, and a slow, bittersweet smile lifted the corners of her lips. “We’ll be all right. I’m sure of it.” Her hand slipped into his.

His and Merril’s shared chapter had ended, and with it, his last tie to human life. But his story wasn’t finished yet. He needed to
keep on writing. He needed to keep moving forward, towards whatever small, frail hope his tomorrow had.

The End

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