5. Christopher
Chapter five
Christopher
Missile Silo—Moments earlier
“Mommy?” the little girl asks again, louder this time.
She hugs a brown-and-white rabbit to her chest. A live one. Her arms wrap under the front legs, with the back legs hanging free, her body almost hidden by the large animal. Tears form, and she steps forward like she wants to rush to her mother but then freezes, eyeing me warily.
Christ on a crutch. Guilt tugs at my heart, and a rock lodges in my stomach.
I can’t imagine the suffering this child has already experienced.
But I’ve no time to shield her from seeing what comes next.
No matter how I feel about kids, no matter how much I hate the idea of siring a vampire, no matter how horrendous the penalty is for an unsanctioned turn, my inaction can’t be the reason her mother dies. Not when I’m the one who shot her.
I grab a nearby apron and stuff the cloth into the wound to slow the bleeding, then press down.
The woman moans, rolling her head to the side, and her eyes flutter open.
She’s dying.
Right now, speed is my only choice. I lift her wrist, plastering my mouth over a vein, and bite down, injecting fang serum.
I mentally cross my fingers, hoping her circulatory system continues pumping to carry the vital serum to all the cells in her body.
Those chemical compounds are essential for a successful turn.
Her blood rolls across my tongue. Draining her until she’s close to death is the next step, but the bullet is already doing that job for me. So I only take a little.
“What’s wrong with Mommy?”
I lift my lips from the woman’s wrist and release her arm. “Nothing.”
“You bit her. Why did you bite her?”
I don’t have time for this. So I ignore the child’s question and rip a gash on my wrist using my fangs.
The kid screams and scurries back to the silo’s wall.
“Don’t go.” I shove the pulsing wound into the woman’s mouth. “Uh, stay. Your mommy needs you.”
“You hurt her.” There’s accusation in the child’s tone, but her retreat stops.
“She’ll be just fine.” God, that sounds so lame. I can’t help it. I’m lousy at dealing with kids. “What’s your name?”
She hugs the rabbit tighter, her face now hidden by the animal’s shoulders. “Zinnia.”
I massage the woman’s throat, encouraging her to swallow, trying to get a little blood into her.
Come on. Drink. Please.
Then the woman groans, and her mouth sucks in earnest.
Oh my God.
That feels better than it should. I moan, and the woman sighs around my wrist again.
The little girl takes a step closer, staring at me. “You’re hurting Mommy.”
“I’m saving her. Healing her. My blood has healing properties.”
The frown of distrust on the child’s face almost puts me back on my heels.
“No, it doesn’t. Blood doesn’t heal anything. My papa’s dead, and he had blood.”
“My blood heals.”
Her frown deepens. “Are you a nightcrawler?”
Nightcrawler. That must be what they call vampires. With my fangs out and my bloody wrist pressed to her mother’s mouth, her accusation isn’t surprising.
“Yes, I’m one of them.”
“Mommy said nightcrawlers are bad monsters.”
Crap. She thinks I’m one of the things that go bump in the night. “Some can be. But I’m not.”
She looks at her mother again, still drinking from my wrist. “You’ll make Mommy better?”
“I will. I promise.”
She stares at me a moment longer. “There are good monsters in my books, too.”
Then, as if that decides it, she takes a few steps closer to us.
I nod, a little relieved. I don’t want to deal with a hysterical child, and I don’t love the idea of mesmerizing a kid either. “Is there anyone else here besides you and Mommy?”
Her eyes carry sadness. “Nuh uh. Papa Gabriel got sick. Died. And Papa Lehm went for medicine and never came back.”
And now her mother is going to become one of the undead.
I hate this fucking world.
Zinnia hugs the rabbit tighter, and the animal starts to struggle.
“Don’t hold your bunny too hard. You’ll hurt her.”
“Oh.” She immediately loosens her grip. “Mommy says the same thing.”
I don’t give her a chance to ask about her mother again. “What’s your bunny’s name?”
“Carrot.”
From the way she holds the bunny—hanging down, with her arms tucked under its front paws—I see no male bits, so I take a guess. “Does Carrot have a boyfriend?”
“Uh huh.”
“Can you leave Carrot here?” I toss her the backpack without removing my wrist from the woman’s mouth. “Put your bunny in here, and go get her boyfriend, okay? And a pair of the Flemish giants, too? Please?”
If saving this woman and her preschool child puts my neck on the chopping block, then I want what I risked everything for. Two breeding pairs. I don’t know if I’ll have the time or opportunity to return and claim more.
Maybe the Lux and the other councils will forgive my recklessness when I gift them the extinct varieties. If not, the rabbits will be my legacy to the preservation ark.
Zinnia hesitates, looking at her mother again, but then drops Carrot near us and runs down a series of stairs to the bottom level where the rabbits live.
Thanks to the mortal blood I’ve imbibed, the skin around my shoulder wound tightens as it begins to close, but the torn muscle is still sore and now I’m feeling exhausted as my vampire essence drains out and into my soon-to-be sired fledgling.
In a few hours, the sun will rise. I hadn’t planned on being out this long.
Just a quick look-see in the silo to satisfy the Lux.
When all the councils find out what I’ve done, they’re going to be…pissed.
That’s trouble for later.
The tap-tap-tap of little feet on the concrete steps grow nearer. I want to get out of here quickly, just in case Zinnia lied and other adults live underground with her.
Except now that I focus on it, I hear only one heartbeat. The little girl’s. Her mother’s has stopped. I remove my wrist from the woman’s mouth and use two fingers to close her eyes. Before Zinnia can ask, I say, “Mommy’s asleep. Put the bunny—okay, bunnies—in the backpack with the other one.”
She’s carried three bunnies in a basket—Carrot’s boyfriend, and two Flemish giants. I expected her to make three trips, giving me time to carry her mother to the truck.
Oh well. I help her load the squirming rabbits into the backpack and confirm I have breeding pairs—yep, two males, one of each type.
“We have to leave here. I’ll drive us to my dome. It’s safe there, and cooler. I have food. You’ll like it.”
Her eyes widen. “Leave?”
“Yes.” She still looks uncertain. Has she never left this compound before? “We have to hurry.”
She hugs her arms tightly. “At n-night?”
Got it. Of course, they never go out at night. Why take an unnecessary risk? “You’ll be safe with me and your mother.”
I zip the rabbits into the backpack so they can’t hop out and sling the straps over my injured shoulder, grunting.
Damn, that hurts.
Zinnia tilts her head and her brow wrinkles. “Mommy says we wait for daylight.”
“I understand. I do. But I have to take your mother to my home right away, where I have more…medicine.”
“You have medicine? For Mommy?”
“Yes, and—”
“Okay,” she says, eagerly.
“Okay?”
She nods. “Medicine makes people better. Not blood. Let’s go get the medicine.”
Smart kid, even if she’s wrong in this case. “What’s your mother’s name?”
Zinnia shrugs. “Mommy.”
“She doesn’t have another name?”
“I think my papas used to call her Maria, but I’m not sure.”
Plural. Not a mistake, either, since she’s mentioned two papas before. I put that on the back burner to ask Maria when she wakes. “Well, I’m going to pick up your mother and carry her to the truck, then come back for you. Can you wait here?”
“Nuh uh. I want to go with Mommy.”
I clench my teeth to stop a growl of frustration. My patience is wearing thin. “I can’t carry you both. It has to be one at a time or I might drop one of you. I promise I will come right back.”
She looks at her mother and then me. “Right back?”
“Yes, right back.” I scoop up Maria and sling her over my good shoulder, keeping a tight grasp on her slender legs. “Wait here.”
Zinnia nods.
I extend my claws, carefully gripping Maria so I don’t gouge her legs.
Zinnia gasps, both hands flying to her mouth, and backs up.
“I won’t hurt her—or you.” I hold out a hand, turning my wrist so she can see them. Hiding won’t help her trust me. “I need these to climb.”
Hooking my claws into the trellis, I climb the balconies and take Maria and the bunnies out through the silo’s roof, then lope to the wall surrounding the silo area. When I get to the tall steel doors, I can’t get close because I’m blocked by the spikes.
There must be another way out. I search around until I find a utility box, throw a few switches, and luck out.
The gate swings open, and the rotary spikes roll back.
I jog to the truck. Nothing looks suspicious, and I sniff the air.
No scents from strangers. The flat desert stretches for miles and I see no sign of snipers.
So I punch the remote to raise the truck’s bed covering and lay Maria next to the few items I’ve scavenged tonight—bookshelves and salvageable wooden boards.
Opening the passenger door, I put the rabbit bag on the floor of the cab.
I return for Zinnia, climbing down the silo until I reach the platform where she waits, and kneel to scoop her up. “I’m going to carry you out now.”
The little girl clutches my t-shirt with both of her tiny fists. Her gaze focuses on the silk-screened image of my band and her brow wrinkles.
What about my concert t-shirt fascinates her? I’ll ask later, when we’re on firmer ground, and instead lift her the same way a sloth carries its baby—in front. “Wrap your legs around my back and your arms around my neck. I need both hands to climb.”