9. Christopher
Chapter nine
Christopher
Preservation Ark—Moments later
Tracking where her gaze stares, I laugh. “Don’t even think of it. The sword isn’t real. Plastic. And I’ll have it out of your hands before you can draw the blade. Besides, you wouldn’t want to frighten your girl. So let her go.”
She hugs Zinnia closer. “We’re okay.”
“I’m sure you are. But it’s safer to limit your time with a mortal.” I hold out my arms, and Zinnia comes to me. A little too naturally for my taste. I need to get them both out of here as soon as possible, which means filing a report on what I’ve done.
Dammit.
I’m going to be in a crap-ton of trouble. Actually, that’s an understatement.
I know the rules for unsanctioned turns.
I know I might have forfeited my life. But I wasn’t going to leave this kid without a parent.
Being around her may give me the jitters, but I’m not a monster, despite what her mother thinks of me.
By the time I report to my Lux supervisor, maybe rescuing the rabbits will appease the three councils.
That, or I’ll figure another way to save us all.
I set Zinnia on her chair at the table. The bowl is empty. “Did you like your snack?”
“Blueberries are good.”
“Still hungry?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“Then it’s time for dinner. Right, kiddo?”
Zinnia smiles. “Yes, please. Dinner!”
“Let’s set you up with a TV tray and a monitor, and you can watch cartoons as you eat. Your mom and I need to talk.” I find cartoons on my server for her to stream, and she settles onto the couch.
Maria starts to join Zinnia, still holding the shiny blue pouch.
I grab her by the arm, tugging her with me into the kitchen area to keep her daughter safe, and open the refrigerator door. After studying the options, I select glass containers of precooked food.
Maria shakes loose from my grip. “What are cartoons?”
“What kind of entertainment did you have in the silo?”
“Books. We’d read to each other while the other one worked.” Then she ogles the food I’m preparing. “Where did you get all of that?”
“We grow it here. I raise cattle, turkeys, fruit, and vegetables, among other things.”
“We were lucky to have enough to keep us alive, barely, and you—who can’t eat food—have all this?”
“Be glad I have it, for your daughter’s sake.” I pop the turkey meat into the microwave.
“But why do you have it? How do you have it?”
“What do you know about the Collapse?”
She rolls her eyes and straightens her spine, looking like a student about to recite for the teacher. “Global warming caused climate change until the weather became erratic and killed hundreds of thousands of people. Civilization fell apart.”
I remove a sharp knife from the wooden block and start chopping carrots. “Who taught you that?”
“My grandparents.” She takes a seat on one of the counter stools.
“Momma and Papa’s parents, along with their friends and family, saw the Collapse happen in real time, guessed what the results would be, and bought nineteen acres, a former Titan 2 missile site, and converted the underground areas into a habitat when civilization fell apart eighty years ago. ”
“More like ninety-one years. September 2034. Did they tell you what triggered global warming?”
“Greed. The greedy wanted to make money selling oil, coal, natural gas, and other products that created greenhouse gases and warmed the atmosphere, rather than converting to environmentally friendly power sources.”
I wave my knife like a fairy using a magical wand. “You get an A-plus on your term paper.”
She laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard the sound, and I like it. While I may have been joking about the term paper, I’m asking these questions to test her memory and the soundness of her mind. So far, she’s doing fine.
“Anyway, there’s a bit more,” I say. “When the climate catastrophe finally hit, the world’s temperature increased, melting the two poles, flooding the oceans and leading to the erratic weather you mentioned that causes wild sonic boom swings from hot to cold, and back again.”
“Poles? Do you mean the North and South Poles?”
Good, she must have a general idea of the globe and the world map, then.
“Yes. The ice on both melted.”
“Ice?”
Right. We’re in the middle of endless desert.
“Frozen water.” I grab a cube from the freezer and place it on the counter in front of her. “Water so cold it solidifies.”
Her mouth drops open. She touches the ice cube and immediately retracts her hand like she’s been burned. New vampires take a while to grow accustomed to their magnified senses.
I toss the ice cube into the sink before it can melt on the counter. “When the climate collapse came, a lot of people starved to death.”
Her mouth snaps shut, anger flashing across her face. “Yes, I know.”
“Of course. But it was worse for people outside of the domes—like your family.”
“You mentioned domes before. What are they?”
I resume chopping carrots. “We’re inside one right now. The technology keeps the heat outside, and environmental controls keep the inside temperature reasonable and the air free of bacteria and molds.”
The microwave dings. I add carrots and carry the plate over to the TV tray.
Maria remains at the counter, a glazed look in her eyes. Probably adjusting to everything she’s learned.
I show Zinnia how to use a fork, and she digs into her dinner.
“Good, kiddo?”
“Very good,” she says with her mouth full.
“You stay here and eat, okay?”
She nods enthusiastically and goes back to watching the cartoons.
I grab Maria’s hand, tug her into the bedroom—she follows reluctantly with a glance back at Zinnia—and close the door behind us.
“Domes…are protected compounds, where things grow?” She furrows her brow. “And you said people and vampires and these Lux live together?”
“Well, not all domes are mixed. Some are. Some only have mortals. And some are like this one—mainly for animals.”
I pause because the look on her face tells me she’s still mulling that over.
“Sit down on the bed, and I’ll explain.”
She accepts my invitation, and I join her.
“Basically, I’m a glorified zookeeper—someone who takes care of animals.
The Lux call this dome a preservation ark.
I have a four-year contract to take care of the animals who live here.
The Lux dropped domes over wildlife areas when the Collapse came, which is what happened here.
They pay me in dark wine—the blue pouches you’re drinking. ”
“Dark wine?” She holds up the pouch she still carries. “You said this was blood. I’ve read about wine—”
“Not the same thing. Dark wine is the polite term for mortal blood. But the Lux don’t give me enough, so I also have to scavenge stuff to trade with the Tucson and Phoenix mortal-only domes for donor blood.
And speaking of…” I brace myself for her reaction.
“I need to go to work—I have to go trade tonight.” With the amount Maria drank, I can’t delay restocking my supplies.
“I should have enough time to collect all the rabbits at your silo.”
“Why are you telling me this?” She shrugs. “Do what you have to do.”
A lump fills my throat, and I swallow past it. “I’m taking Zinnia with me.”
Maria stiffens so sharply, I’m worried she’ll crack into pieces. “No.”
“I need to—”
“You are not taking my daughter from me!”
“Maria.”
“She stays with me. I won’t let you separate us.”
Honestly, her reaction is fair. She doesn’t trust me, doesn’t know me, and doesn’t understand that, as her sire, I won’t hurt her or her daughter. The bond has settled in me rather quickly, and while I don’t like the burden, I also know it’s true. They are both my responsibility now.
But how do I explain that to her?
“Zinnia is…three years old?”
“She’s five.”
“Okay, five. I can’t trust a five-year-old alone in my habitat. She could hurt herself.” Or break one of my collectible guitars. Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Taylor Swift, and St. Vincent are low enough for her to reach. I need to childproof the living areas.
Crap. I’ll need to childproof the living areas and clean out the recording studio to create a bedroom for her, assuming the Lux don’t take Maria and Zinnia away.
Have I said before how much I hate kids and the sacrifices they require?
“Then don’t leave her alone.” Maria spreads her arms wide. “Leave her with me. Her mother.”
“She can’t be alone with you, not until you get control of your hunger.”
“I would never hurt my baby!”
Should I tell her? She’s just risen, and I don’t want to traumatize Maria. But she needs to understand the danger she poses to Zinnia. “I knew a woman who killed her best friend the day after she was turned. Just about destroyed her. How would you feel if you hurt Zinnia?”
She gasps. “Seriously?”
“Yes. In the early days, the hunger will rule you. No exceptions.”
“Why did you make me this way?” Fury and despair fill her voice. “Turn me into…this?”
I sigh. “Because I didn’t want Zinnia to watch her mother die. It was death or this.”
Maria swallows. “Why can’t we all go together?”
“Out there?” I shake my head. “I can’t watch you with Zinnia all the time and keep us safe.”
“How did you get me here?”
“In the back of the truck, but now, I’m going to pick up the rabbits from the silo, and their cages will fill up the truck bed. You’re both safer if you stay here, feed when you need to, and I take Zinnia and guard her.”
“She’s more likely to get hurt out there.” Maria points at the kitchen, not realizing the preservation domes are in that direction.
“Look. I have a fully armored truck with guns and missiles, and nothing will happen to her. I either take you with me, or her with me, and I don’t like the idea of leaving her alone here. Not until I make some changes. This place isn’t childproof.”
“And the world out there is?”
“In my truck, she’ll be safe.”
Maria crosses her arms and gives me a glare that could kill. She’s furious, but she’s realizing she has no choice. “I still don’t like it.”
“I didn’t expect you to. But I’ll come back with more bunnies and more blood.” I laugh. “B&B.”
Maria doesn’t laugh. Instead, her eyes narrow, and the fire in her glare magnifies.
Realizing I’m getting the silent treatment, I lead her back to the kitchen and sit her at the table, where she waits with another glass of clone blood in front of her while I carry some collapsible cages to the hallway by the garage.
Finished, I pile my trading goods next to them.
Fresh blood is one of the top priorities on my to-do list, so I add an ice chest to the pile.
Before we leave, I’ll grab ice from the garage freezer.
My plan is to get Zinnia, then bring the cages and stuff into the garage, so I don’t risk tracking bacteria through my living room.
Oops. The cats. I almost forgot about them.
“Hey, Zinnia, you want to see my other cats like Wolfie?”
“Really?” she squeals, sliding off the couch and almost knocking the tray over.
“Really.” I take her hand and lead her to the automatic doors connecting to the rest of the ark.
Maria follows. “Wait!”
“We’re not leaving yet. We’ll be right back. I have to feed my cats first.” I point a finger at the chair and infuse sire authority into my voice, because I have the sense she isn’t the type to obey automatically. “Stay there.”
Maria scowls at me but returns to the chair.
Zinnia’s face lights up when she sees my clowder of cats.
The Maine Coons deign to be petted by her—after sniffing her thoroughly, of course—which gives me time to divvy up the precooked beef and chicken from the clowder’s refrigerator.
The cats don’t like the automated feeding systems, so as much as I can, I play waiter to them daily.
When they squeak at her, she looks up at me, smiling. “Carrot doesn’t make noise.”
“That’s right.” I don’t correct her. Rabbits are silent unless hurt. Not a sound I ever want to hear again.
“Can we bring the cats back inside?”
“Only Wolfie is allowed inside.” I pick him up and he yowls. Me-ee-ee-ow. “And with the bunnies inside, he stays out here unless I’m home. I’ve never mixed them before. I don’t want them fighting.” Wolfie jumps down, and I hold out my hand to Zinnia. “Let’s go back to your mom.”
“Okay.”
When we enter the living area, Zinnia runs to Carrot and Cabbage, leaning over the edge of their enclosure.
“Zinnia, how does this sound? We’re going back to your compound to get more rabbits. Go potty, then we’ll leave.”
“Oh goody.” She takes off for the bathroom.
Maria glares at me from the chair.
“Oh.” The compulsion from my previous order to stay there lasted longer than I thought it would. “You can get up now.”
She stomps over and gets right in my face. “You better bring my daughter back without a scratch on her.”
“I won’t let anything happen to the munchkin. Cross my heart.” I mime an X over my chest. “As long as I live, I’ll protect you and Zinnia.”
A lie by omission. Maria doesn’t know my personal clock is running out. Doesn’t know that creating her signed my death warrant.
But I mean every word of it, even as my expiration date draws closer.
The Lux will be there to protect my fledgling and her child, because that’s their responsibility under the treaty.
If rescuing the rabbits doesn’t persuade them to keep me around and the councils decide to execute me, Maria and Zinnia will still be safe.