30 Days of Night: Light of Day (17 page)

“This your place?” Jesse asked as they pulled into a garage with an automatic door opener. He hadn’t said much on the way up, just asked a couple of questions and answered Larry’s with single-syllable responses.

“It is now,” Larry said. “For a while. How long have you been in your place?”

This was answered, naturally, with a shrug. “Some while,” Jesse added.

Larry closed the garage door, then took Jesse into the house. He had learned that in life Jesse had been a fry cook, had been out of Mississippi only a couple of
times, to neighboring states, and had been turned more than ten years ago but less than twenty—he couldn’t narrow it down any further. He was, Larry decided, on the slow side, but agreeable. And Larry was glad he hadn’t had to chain him up.

Over the next few days, they hunted together at night and Jesse sat in the house’s living room, mostly watching TV, by day. He had brought his computer with him, an ancient Gateway that Larry was surprised could still connect to the net, and he spent a little time on that each day. Jesse proved that he did have hunting skills and the ability to move quickly when necessary, and seeing his strength, Larry felt relief that he hadn’t tried to take the bigger man. Having him here voluntarily was much easier.

During the days, Larry worked harder than ever, trying to apply what he had learned about how human cells transformed sunlight into vitamin D, and then made use of it throughout the body. He believed he had come across the right answer, and he thought he knew how to modify it, along the same lines he had already tested, to work in concert with the Immortal Cell instead of causing the destructive reaction it did now.

On the fourth day he was finished.

He felt elated. In spite of his nearly constant hunger, he could still do science. He could still develop a theory and then find his way toward a definitive test of that theory. He knew how to combine chemicals to achieve a desired result.

All that was missing now was that definitive test.

That’s what Jesse was here for.

He should have waited until morning, let Jesse get a good meal in his belly before injecting him. But there were a couple hours of sunlight left, and Larry was anxious. He went into the living room, where Jesse was sitting in front of the TV, rubbing his stomach with his right hand.

“We’re ready, Jesse.”

“For what?”

“For the test I told you about. For you to go out in the sun?”

“Now?”

“In a minute. After I give you the … the medicine.”

“Don’t like needles.”

“You’ll hardly feel it, Jesse. You’re strong.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll love this. Not only will you be stronger than ever, but sunlight won’t hurt you. In fact, the sunlight will make you stronger still. You want that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Come with me, then.”

Jesse clicked off the TV, rose from the chair, and followed Larry into the dining room he had turned into a lab. Larry had already filled a syringe with the formula. “Give me your arm, Jesse.”

Jesse held his arm out. The veins in his forearm were prominent, so Larry didn’t even bother tying him off. “Look up at the ceiling.”

Jesse obeyed, and Larry stuck the needle in his vein. Jesse barely flinched. Larry pushed down on the plunger, emptied the cylinder into the bigger vampire. Jesse shuddered as the liquid began to circulate.

“That’s it,” Larry said. “Now let’s see how it works.”

“How?”

“You go outside. Out into the side yard.”

“Outside? It’s daytime.”

“That’s the point,” Larry said. “The sunlight won’t hurt you now. It’ll make you feel better than ever.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Larry led Jesse back through the living room. Heavy drapes kept the sunlight from pouring in through a sliding glass door. “You’ll go out here, in the yard. I’ll be watching from upstairs.”

“You sure?” Jesse asked. Larry couldn’t tell if he was just repeating himself, or if he meant was Larry sure he would be watching. In fact, it would be difficult, but he could stand to the side of the window. At this time of day, direct sunlight wouldn’t land on him there, and he could still see the whole yard. There wasn’t much direct sun left in the yard, but there was enough for a test run.

“When I’m ready I’ll shout to you. Then you go out through the drapes and the glass door, and just stand in the yard. Nobody will see you because of that wall. When you’re there for a few minutes, the sun will start working on you, making you stronger than you’ve ever been. When I yell down to you through the window,
then you can come back in, and I’ll look you over, check what happened to you.”

Jesse just looked at him.

“Okay, Jesse?”

“Okay.”

On the other side of the side yard wall was a fairly busy main street. Traffic flowed along it most of the day and late at night. But the wall was eight feet high and topped with broken glass, so no one was likely to look over it. The house’s owner had liked her security, but she hadn’t reckoned on a vampire coming along.

Her mistake.

“I’m going upstairs now, Jesse.” Larry had learned to be very clear when talking to Jesse, and it didn’t hurt to repeat himself. “I’ll let you know when to go out.”

“Okay.”

Larry left Jesse and hurried upstairs. It was probably fine that Jesse wasn’t visibly excited, because Larry was excited enough for both of them. When he got to the window, double-checked to ascertain that he could stand out of direct sun, with the curtain closed except for an inch or so at the side, and see the entire yard, he called down. “Go on outside, Jesse! Just stop when you get into the sun and wait to feel it on you!”

Jesse didn’t answer, but Larry heard the rustle of the drapes and the rush of the sliding door. He held his breath. Jesse, wearing a sleeveless white T, stepped out into the afternoon sun.

As Larry had instructed, Jesse stood there. Every few
moments he twitched his uncovered shoulders or shook out his arms. Larry knew what he was experiencing. The warmth of the sun on his flesh was no longer a familiar sensation, and it had been far longer for Jesse. He was no doubt nervous, dread of the sun having become second nature. But he was a trouper.

Most important, he didn’t catch on fire.

This would only be the first test, of course. Larry would have to devise ways of measuring Jesse’s strength, indoors and away from the sun as well as out in it. But this was the critical one, because if he had not survived—or if he had gone mad, as Larry had the time he had tested on himself—then the others would be moot.

He let Jesse stand out there for five minutes. He was about to call him back in, but decided to let it go a couple more. Jesse was mostly still, as usual, twitching and scratching a little but otherwise showing no reaction.

Eight minutes passed. Jesse showed no visible effects. Time to bring him in. Larry slammed his palm against the window, protected by the curtain, to get his attention. “Jesse!”

Jesse jerked, startled. Then, as if the fright had flipped a switch, his face changed, the usual disinterested expression turning into a furious scowl. He dropped to a crouch, hands out at his sides, as if threatened by something. Saliva flecked the corners of his mouth.

Larry backed away from the window’s edge. He recognized the symptoms of uncontrolled rage, and
didn’t want it directed his way. But Jesse didn’t look up toward him. He spun around in the yard, as if he felt trapped, surrounded by enemies. That glass door wouldn’t hold him for an instant if he wanted to come back inside.

But he didn’t. Maybe he felt that the inside of the house was the source of the suddenly chaotic fever gripping him, and he didn’t want to return to it. At any rate, he did as Larry had done before, leaping over the high wall.

Larry, however, had done it in a quiet exurban neighborhood. Jesse landed in a street, with cars coming toward him from both directions. Drawn back to the window, Larry watched as Jesse, panicked, ran from one vehicle and slammed into the hood of another. Horns blared. Jesse rolled off the hood, having left a deep dent in it, broken part of the grille, and dislocated the front bumper, and smashed his fists through the driver’s window. The driver screamed and tried to move away, but was constrained by his seat belt. Jesse dragged him through the shattered window, glass slicing furrows into him, and tore his head most of the way off. Jesse helped himself to a few swallows from the gushing neck, then seemed to notice that the street had come to a standstill, everyone staring at him.

His reaction was fierce. He ran from person to person, car to car, sowing devastation at every step.

Jesse flipped a compact car with just the strength in his hands and shoulders, killed three more people,
bathing in blood. Larry could smell the sharp, sweet scent, and for an instant he wished he was out there in the street, taking part in the carnage.

By the time seven people had died, the others seemed to understand that they would be next. Cars reversed, or swung around and raced away. One pickup truck hit a woman whose car was trapped and who was trying to escape on foot. She landed on the sidewalk, head first, and Larry watched blood spread on the pavement.

Then he heard sirens and saw the flash of lights closing in fast. Jesse didn’t seem to register the danger. He was too busy throwing car parts through the windows of nearby houses and dismembering his victims. Squad cars braked at all angles and the cops poured out, hemming him in from both sides. Even then he paid them little mind, just glanced at them as if noting new prey.

Larry watched them aim pistols and shotguns at Jesse. They couldn’t know he was a vampire, and if that concept even crossed their minds, they wouldn’t believe he would be out in daylight. All they saw was an incredibly strong madman, some guy cranked up on PCP and drenched in blood, and a slew of victims. Their voices were muffled by distance and glass but Larry knew they were ordering him to freeze, to lie down with his hands behind his head. Jesse ignored their commands.

Finally, as if perturbed by their interruption of his spree, Jesse started toward them. That move was met
by a hail of bullets and lead shot. Jesse’s body jerked as each one hit him, but he kept going until a desperate officer’s shotgun blast pulverized his head.

Kill the brain and you kill the vampire.
That had been drummed into everyone at Operation Red-Blooded. The last-ditch survival tactic.

Jesse’s body finally stopped, swayed, and fell. Even then the frightened cops put more bullets into him, until they were absolutely certain.

The sun was almost gone. Night would fall soon, and Larry would need to get out of the area. The police would certainly go door-to-door, interrogating neighbors, trying to figure out who the hell Jesse was and where he had come from. Larry had no right to be in this house, and that would be obvious quickly enough.

He packed fast. As soon as it was dark enough, he had to go. The driveway was on the far side of the house from the side yard and the street, so maybe he would have a chance to get away before they caught him. He carried equipment and supplies out to the truck, stowed safely in the garage for now. When the bed was loaded he covered it with tarps and tied it all down. Then he got a jug of blood from the refrigerator—traveling food—and sat in the truck, behind the wheel, thinking over what had gone wrong.

Jesse had lasted longer in the sun than Larry had, but finally the rage had overtaken him, too. Jesse had become much stronger than Larry in the sunlight— both were strengthened by it, but Larry wouldn’t have
been able to flip cars. In the end, though, any survival instincts Jesse should have possessed had been subsumed by the madness. He might have been lacking in that area in the first place, since he had so willingly left his safe place behind at a stranger’s request. But Larry thought some of it had to be attributable to the formula, to the sun-rage.

He had more work to do. And he had to do it away from here.

He was still sitting in the truck when he heard the cops ring the front doorbell. They hammered on the door for a while, announced themselves, but didn’t enter the house or look in the garage. Larry waited another half hour, until they had moved well away, and then opened the garage, backed out, and drove like hell away from the neighborhood.

Time to find a new temporary home, a new test subject. Ultimate success had been forestalled. But it would be his.

Of that, he was more certain than ever.

E
VERYTHING COULD BE SNATCHED
away in an instant.

That was a lesson Rocco had learned many times over. The lesson, though, couldn’t be applied in any practical way. Knowing the shit could hit the blades at any time didn’t mean that you knew when that time would come. He had learned it first as an eleven-year-old, on the streets of Brooklyn when it had been a much different place than it was now. He had been out playing stickball on the street when his father came striding up the sidewalk in that way he had, like he hadn’t a care in the world, like it was the world that should be checking over its shoulder in case Sal DelVecchio was coming up behind it. He had a paper bag in his arms, bottles clinking together inside it, and a cigarette clamped between his lips. When he saw Rocco in the street, he sucked in a big drag and blew the smoke out his nostrils in twin streams, like a dragon. The stunt never failed to bring a smile to Rocco’s face.

This time, though, he had just finished with his dragon smoke when he saw a couple of bruisers heading toward him from the corner. They both wore long black
coats and fedoras, in spite of the day’s warmth. Their hands were tucked in their coat pockets. They walked with stiff-legged determination, like they knew where they were going and what they’d do once they got there.

“Those are some of Caputo’s men,” one of Rocco’s buddies said. “I’ve seen them before.”

“Are not!” Rocco said.

“They are.”

He might have said more, but Rocco wasn’t listening. His father had stopped on the sidewalk and the men had reached him. The clink of the bottles in the bag became louder, more insistent. Rocco had never seen his father afraid before, and now that he did, he liked it not one bit.