Dark Corner (48 page)

"Being right doesn't please me none," Jackson said.
"Rather be making all this up "

"All we can do is our best," Green said. He shrugged, as
though too exhausted to think of a more profound comment.
But he was right. All they could do was give it their best shot.

They loaded Ben and Bertha on gurneys and lifted them
into the ambulance. After the vehicle sped away, Jackson
turned to the remaining four people on his team. They
looked weary way too weary at such an early stage in the
fight. The night was young.

"I think we should go back to the police station to regroup," David said. "We've got to put our heads together and
figure out where the head vampires might be hiding. We
have to stay focused on Kyle and Diallo."

"Makes sense," Jackson said. "We've gotta touch base
with the other teams, too, make sure they're holding up ""

The others murmured their agreement. They trudged
down the path, to the gate.

A breeze had been blowing for most of the afternoon, but
then it suddenly picked up speed. Jackson snared his hat before the wind snatched it off his head and hurled it into the
darkness.

Thunder groaned, making the earth tremble. Lightning
skipped across the sky.

All of them began to run down the driveway.

The gust rose from a moan into a nerve-racking screech.
It took the efforts of Jackson and David to force open the
iron gate and hold it so that Nia, Mac, and Tanya could get
through. When Jackson and David squeezed through it themselves, the gate boomed shut behind them.

Lightning cracked above Jubilee's rooftops, making the
old mansion look like every bit of the haunted house that it
was rumored to be.

David, Mac, and Nia scrambled into Mac's pickup, and
Tanya got in the patrol car with Jackson. Jackson stabbed the
key in the ignition. The wind punched the car, snuffled at the
windows like a creature scrabbling to get inside.

"Do you think it's a tornado?" Tanya said.

"Don't know, might be," Jackson said. "Wouldn't be lucky
for us, would it?"

Mac had slammed his truck into gear, performed a U-turn,
and was roaring away down the road, heading back toward
town. Jackson executed a sharp U-turn, too.

Dead leaves and weeds, animated by the gale, danced in
the middle of the road. The trees swayed, their boughs shaking violently.

Jackson had seen two tornados in his life-one as a child,
one as a man-and these winds were growing closer and
closer to reaching that level of destruction.

He mashed the gas pedal. The acceleration threw him
back in his seat.

Ahead, a fork of lightning stabbed an oak tree alongside
the road with an eardrum-splitting crack! Hot branches flew
like shrapnel, and the shattered, smoking trunk teetered and
began to fall toward the road.

Jackson floored the accelerator.

"Watch out!" Tanya said, in a high-pitched voice. She
covered her eyes.

In his peripheral vision, Jackson saw the giant tree falling
toward him; it would smash the car to pieces if it struck
them. But he could not have stopped if he'd wanted to.
Adrenaline propelled him to push the engine to the maximum.

The oak missed the car's rear bumper by only a foot. The
tree crashed against the ground with such force that the car
bounced a few inches in the air and rattled his teeth.

"Are you crazy?" Tanya said. "You could've killed us!"

"I ain't ready to die yet," Jackson said. "Got too much
work to do tonight to have time to die."

Tanya opened her mouth, and he heard the beginnings of
a first-class cussout coming his way, but then she clapped
her mouth shut, folded her arms across her chest, and slid
down in the seat.

"Bet you'll ride with someone else next time," Jackson
said. He chuckled. Maybe he was losing his mind. He couldn't really see the humor in the situation, but he couldn't stop the
laugh from escaping him. He'd heard the saying that when
things got tough, you laughed to keep from crying. Maybe
that was what he was doing, laughing to keep from crying.
Or laughing to keep from dying.

At home in the den, Jahlil discovered that almost all of
his father's firearms were gone. The only ones left in the gun
cabinet were Jahlil's own pump-action Mossberg shotgun,
which he used for hunting, and a pellet gun that Jahlil had
used as a kid to take target practice at soda cans.

A pellet gun, for God's sake.

"Dammit!" Jahlil slammed his fist against the cabinet
door. "I betcha Dad gave all our shit to the people on those
patrol teams"

"Now what we gonna do, man?" Poke said. His face was
greasy with sweat. "I ain't got no guns, my pops took all of
'em when he moved out"

"Figures," Jahlil said. He chewed his lip. Think! "Okay,
look. We're gonna have to work as a team. I'll use the shotgun-"

"-man, that's bullshit-" Poke said.

`-I'm not finished, all right?" Jahlil said. "Just listen.
I'll use the gun, and we'll make some Molotov cocktails.
When we see a bloodsucker, I'll plug him, to slow him
down, and then you'll light him up with the cocktail. We'll
be like a tag team. Get it?"

"Hell, naw," Poke said. "I need me a motherfucking gun.
Why you get to carry the shotgun?"

" 'Cause it's mine," Jahlil said. He offered the pistol to
Poke. "Use this. It's better than nothing. Carry it for backup.
All any of these guns can do is slow down these bloodsuckers anyway, they won't kill them"

"I'm gonna get me a real piece before we're through," Poke said. His lips curled in disgust, Poke snatched the pellet gun from Jahlil and holstered it in his waistband. "Gimme
some ammo, man"

In the ammunition drawer, the only ammo left was for the
pellet gun, and the Mossberg. He scooped up two handfuls
of pellets and handed them to Poke, then loaded the shotgun.
Once it was loaded, he unzipped his duffel bag and dumped
the remaining ammo inside. The bag already held a flashlight, a knife, a first aid kit, and several books of matches.
Jahlil wanted to be prepared for anything.

Thunder rumbled. Poke checked outside the window.

"What do you see out there?" Jahlil said. Night had fallen,
and someone might attack them at any second. "Someone
coming?"

"We got a storm coming," Poke said. No sooner had he
spoken the words than a gale of wind skirled around the
house. The ceiling light in the den wavered.

"Go to the kitchen and get some candles," Jahlil said.
"They're in the drawer by the refrigerator. We can't be without light. We still have to make those cocktails."

"Got it." Poke shuffled to the stairs. Did he have to walk
so slowly? Jahlil wanted to put his foot up his ass to get him
moving. Well, they'd always called him Poke for a reason.
He moved like a slug.

Jahlil was starting to get a headache. It was the same kind
of pounding-behind-the-eyes pain that he would get whenever he was taking an exam for which he hadn't studied. It
was solely due to stress.

The screaming gust beat a tattoo against the walls. Thunder
steamrolled across the night, and Jahlil saw flickers of lightning coming in through the curtains, as though someone
were taking photos outside.

"Man, hurry up!" Jahlil said. He didn't like being alone
down there, not when he understood what awaited them outdoors.

Poke returned to the den with a single, half-melted candle.

"Only found one in there" Poke shrugged. "Guess your
daddy raided the crib of all the useful shit today."

"No shit," Jahlil said. "Well, let's go in the garage to
make these cocktail things so we can get out of here."

The door on the far side of the room opened into the twocar garage. Jahlil flipped the light switch beside the door.
The light did not turn on.

Behind them, the light in the den winked out.

Jahlil cursed under his breath. Could it get any worse?
Nothing was going their way.

"Gimme some light, man, hurry up," Poke said. He was
so close that Jahlil could smell the Doritos on his breath.

Jahlil clicked on the flashlight. He struck a match and lit
the candle that Poke clutched in both hands as though it were
the Holy Grail or something.

Jahlil panned the light beam around the garage, searching
for the red-and-yellow can of gasoline. It was in the corner,
beside the John Deere lawn mower.

Jahlil picked up the gasoline container.

It really could get worse for them. The can was empty.

Junior could not wait any longer. He had to see Vicky
Queen.

Ever since the medical people had pushed Vicky into
quarantine and rolled her into the room at the end of the hallway, Junior had been unable to keep his attention away from
her door. But it was too far away for him to peek inside. He
would have to go back there to get a good look at her.

He just wanted to make sure she was doing okay, that's all.
It wasn't as though his team needed him right now. One
woman, named Maria, handled checking in all the sick people, and the rest of the group only sat around, talking about
stuff going on in town. Things were going slow, but that might change soon. He wanted to see Vicky while he still had the
chance.

Ron, one of the team members, winked at Junior.

"You're thinking about that woman, ain't you, Junior?"

"Huh? What woman?" Junior played dumb. He didn't
like for people to know his business.

Ron smiled. "You know who I mean. Vicky Queen. The
finest piece of ass in this town. Don't be ashamed, I've been
thinking about her, too"

"What you mean?" Junior asked cautiously.

"She's sleep like all the rest of these folks, man. How
about we sneak back there and get a look at her titties? She
got them nice, big, round titties, nipples like Hershey's Kisses.
We can suck on 'em a little bit, you take one, I take the
other-'

Junior seized Ron by his shirt and drove him backward.
The back of Ron's head smacked the wall. The guy yelped,
like a panicked puppy.

Junior's nose was only inches away from the man's face.
"You stay away from Miss Queen! She ain't no ... no toy.
Hear me?"

Ron's face went tomato red. He spluttered. "Let me go,
man. I'm sorry, all right? I was kidding!"

"You stay away from Miss Queen, you pervert" Junior
gave the guy a good shake, making his head thump against
the wall again. Then Junior released him.

Ron moved away, smoothing his shirt with shaky hands.
"You need to relax, man. What's wrong with you? We're
supposed to be a team. Ain't nothing wrong with joking
around"

Junior ignored him. He was slow, but he wasn't dumb
enough to be fooled by this fella. Ron was a pervert Junior
didn't realize how he remembered the word "pervert," but
the word felt right when applied to Ron.

He looked down the corridor, at Vicky's door.

I'll go in therefor only a minute, he promised himself. I'll
make sure she's okay, then I'll come back.

He put his hand against the quarantine doors.

Maria, stationed at the desk, raised her head. "Where you
going, Junior? Quarantine's a restricted area. Medical staff
only."

"I'll be right back," he said. "I gotta check on a friend."
He pushed through the doors before the woman could tie
him up in a conversation.

Although on his last visit to this section he had peeked inside each room, on this trip he was so focused on Vicky's
doorway that he didn't bother to look anywhere else.

He paused at the threshold, wiped his face with a handkerchief. Quietly, he stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit. There were four beds inside,
each of them layered with crisp white sheets, but Vicky was
the last patient brought to quarantine, and had the room to
herself.

She lay on the bed nearest the window. Light glowing
from the lamp on the nightstand enveloped her in a soft
golden aura.

The blinds were open to the night. Outside, lightning
snapped across the sky, and thunder rolled.

Junior cleared his throat. "You awake, Miss Queen?"

No response. She did not stir, either.

Hesitantly, he approached the bed, his boots squeaking
across the floor.

Although she was ill, wore no makeup, and had disheveled
hair, she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him.
Her lovely face was turned to the side, and one of her slender,
copper arms lay across the bedsheet. Her skin was drained of
its usual, healthy shine, but her full lips were soft and rosy.

It was impossible to believe that this gorgeous woman
was going to change into a vampire one day. Junior couldn't
believe it.

She looked more lively than she had only a short while
ago, when she had first been brought to the hospital. Maybe
the medical people had given her a dose of something to
heal her.

She shifted, sleepily pulling away the sheet a little, as
though she were too warm. Her movement partially exposed
her firm, ripe cleavage that swelled underneath the thin hospital gown.

Ron's voice came to Junior's mind.

How about we sneak back there and get a look at her titties? She got them nice, big, round tittles, nipples like Hershey
Kisses ...

Vicky's moist tongue slid out and glided across her lips.
She moaned softly.

Cold sweat broke out on Junior's forehead.

"You ain't even gotta be awake to make my heart race,
Miss Queen," Junior said. He exhaled.

He gently pulled the cover over her chest, in case someone nasty like Ron came inside to see her.

His hand brushed across her face. He felt her smooth
skin. He tenderly stroked one of her lush eyebrows, ran his
fingers through her long hair.

He remembered a time when he and Vicky had lived next
door to each other, and they were both kids. Junior had been
roaring down the sidewalk on his bike and had fallen off and
skinned his knee, and Vicky, who had been playing with her
dog, came over to him and cleaned his knee with her own
saliva, then got him a Band-Aid ...