Fledgling (7 page)

I followed it as quickly as I could to the opposite end of the ruin and beyond, through a stand of trees and on to a broad, open meadow. It ended there. I walked through the trees and into the meadow, confused, no longer understanding what I was looking for. I found marks on the ground, marks that were wrong for a car or a truck. There were two of them—long, narrow indentations too narrow and far apart to be tire marks. The word helicopter occurred to me suddenly, and I found that I knew what a helicopter was. I had a picture of one in my mind—clear bubble, rotor blades on top, metal structure sweeping back to the tail rotor, and two long runners instead of wheels. When had I ever seen such a thing?

Had a helicopter landed here, then? Had a man of my people gotten out and looked around the ruin, then gotten back into the copter and flown away?

That had probably happened. I couldn’t think of any reason why it would be impossible.

Would he come back, then? Was he my relative? Had he been looking for me? Or had he had something to do with setting the fire?

If I had stayed in the area instead of wandering out to the highway and getting into Wright’s car, I might have already been in contact with people who knew who I was, knew much more about me than I did. Or I might have been hurt again or killed.

I walked around where the copter had landed, looking to see whether anything had been dropped or thrown away. But there was nothing except that faint ghostly scent.

Then I caught another scent, fresh this time. Two scents. Another person—a male like Wright, but not Wright. And there was a gun of some kind. Where had the man come from? The wind—what there was of it—came to me from beyond where the helicopter had landed. That was how I had come to notice the scent of the first stranger. This new man must have passed me on his way to the ruin. If he had passed far enough away, I wouldn’t have noticed, focused as I was on the helicopter and its occupant. But now I thought he must be somewhere near Wright. He and his gun must be somewhere near Wright.

I turned, ran back through the trees toward Wright. I spotted the man with the gun before I got near him. He was moving closer to Wright, not making himself known, watching Wright from hiding.

I meant to confront the man with the gun and perhaps take his gun away. I was intensely uncomfortable with his having it and being able to see Wright while Wright could not see him. I saw him as I emerged from the trees. I saw him raise the gun—a rifle, long and deadly looking. He pointed it at Wright, and I was too far away to stop him. I ran flat out, as fast as I could.

I headed toward Wright and tried to put myself between him and the gun. I expected to be shot at any moment, but I had time to hit Wright in his midsection and knock him down, knock the air out of him just as the rifle went off. Then, with Wright safely on the ground, I went after the shooter.

He fired once more before I reached him, and this time, in spite of my speed, he hit me. An instant later, I hit him with my whole body. And while I could still think, while I was aware enough to be careful, I sank my teeth into his throat and took his blood—only his blood.

Six

I
didn’t care whether I hurt or killed the gunman. I had knocked him unconscious when I hit him. Now I took his blood because he’d spilled mine, and because suddenly, I was in pain. Suddenly, I needed to heal. He was lucky I was aware enough not to take his flesh.

Moments later, I heard Wright’s uneven steps coming toward me, and I was afraid. I went on taking the gunman’s blood because it seemed to be the least harmful thing I could do at the moment.

I let the man go when Wright stood over us. I looked up at him then and, to my relief, did not in the slightest want to eat him. He stared at me, eyes wide.

“Are you shot?” he asked.

“My right leg,” I said.

He was on his knees, lifting me, pulling my jeans down to examine my bloody leg. It hurt almost too much. I screamed, but I didn’t harm him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I thought you might be bleeding—losing too much blood.” He hesitated. “Why aren’t you bleeding more?”

“I don’t ever bleed much.”

“Oh.” He stared at the wound. “That makes sense, I guess. Your body would know how to conserve blood if anyone’s did. The bullet went all the way through. You have to go to a doctor now.”

I shook my head. “I’ll heal. I just need meat. Fresh meat.”

He looked at the gunman. “It’s a shame you can’t eat him.”

I stared down at him. “I can,” I said. The gunman didn’t wash himself often enough, but he was young and strong. His bite wound was already beginning to close. He wasn’t going to die, even though I’d taken quite a bit more blood from him than I would from Wright or Theodora. If he had managed to shoot Wright, I would have made sure he died. “I can,” I repeated. “But I really don’t want to.”

Wright smiled a little as though he thought I was joking. Then, still looking at the wound, he said, “Renee, you’ll get an infection. There are probably all kinds of germs already crawling around in that wound and maybe pieces of your jeans, too. Look, I’ll get you fresh meat if you’ll just see a doctor.”

“No doctor. I’ve been shot before. Some of the wounds. I woke up with in the cave were bullet wounds. I need fresh meat and sleep, that’s all. My body will heal itself.”

There was a long silence. I lay where I was, feeling leaden, wanting to sleep. I had taken perhaps twice as much blood from the gunman as I would have dared to take from Wright or Theodora, and I still wasn’t satisfied. I needed to sleep for a while, though, and let my body heal a little before I ate flesh.

The gunman would awaken thirsty and weak, maybe feeling sick.

And how did I know that?

It was one more sliver of memory, incomplete, but at least, this time, not useless.

“Shall I take you home?” Wright asked finally. “I can stop at the store for a couple of steaks.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be with you when I wake up. I’ll be too hungry. I might hurt you.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” he said with just a hint of a smile.

He didn’t understand. “I’m serious, Wright, I could hurt you. I … I might not be thinking clearly when I wake up.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Look around for a sheltered place here in the ruins. I’ll need to be out of the sun when it comes up. You might have to heap some of the rubble up around me to make enough shade.”

“You want me to leave you here? You want to spend … what, tonight and tomorrow out here?”

“I will spend tonight and tomorrow out here. Come back for me Sunday morning before sunrise.”

“But there’s no need—”

“Don’t buy steaks unless you want them for yourself. I’ll hunt. There are plenty of deer in the woods.”

“Renee—!”

“Build a shelter,” I said. “Put me in it. Then go home. Come back Sunday morning before sunrise.”

There were several seconds of silence. Finally, he said, “What about this guy?” He nudged the gunman with his foot. “What do we do with him? Why did he want to shoot you anyway? Was it just because you scared him?”

“Me?” I said surprised. “He was aiming at you when I hit you. I couldn’t reach him in time to stop him from shooting you. That’s why I knocked you down—so he’d miss. Then I went after him.”

He took a moment to absorb this. “God, I didn’t know what the hell happened. What if he’d killed you?”

“He could have, I guess, but I didn’t think he’d be fast enough. And he wasn’t.”

“He shot you!”

“Annoying,” I said. “It really hurts. You’d better take his gun and keep it.”

“Good idea.” He picked it up.

“Find me a place that will be out of the sun. Otherwise, I’ll have to heal a burn as well as a bullet wound.”

He nodded. “Okay, but you haven’t answered. What about him?” He nodded toward the gunman.

“I’ll talk to him. I want to know why he tried to shoot you.”

“You aren’t afraid to have him here?”

“I don’t want him here, but he’s here. I’ll try not to hurt him, but if I do, I do.”

“When you’re asleep, he might decide to finish what he started.”

“He won’t. As long as you’ve got his rifle, he can’t.”

“You bit him. That’s why you aren’t afraid of him, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid
for
him. I’m afraid I might not be able to stop myself from killing him.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did know what he meant. He was beginning to understand his relationship with me—as I had already begun to understand it. “Because I bit him, he’ll obey me,” I said. “He won’t hurt me if I tell him not to.”

He fingered the place where I’d last bitten him and stared down at me.

I took a deep breath. “I think you can still walk away from me, Wright, if you want to,” I said. I wet my lips. “If you do it now, you can still go.”

“Be free of you?” he asked.

“If you want to be free of me, yes. I’ll even help you.”

“Why? You want to get rid of me?”

“You know I don’t.”

“But you want to help me leave you?” He made it a flat statement, not a question.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Why?”

I took a deep breath, trying to stay alert. “Because I think … I think it would be wrong for me to keep you with me against your will.”

“You think that, do you?” Again, it wasn’t a real question.

So I didn’t bother to answer it.

“How?” he asked.

“What?”

“How can you help me leave you?”

“I can tell you to go. I think I can make it … maybe not comfortable, but at least possible for you to go and have your life back and just … forget about me.”

“I didn’t know what it would be like with you. I didn’t know I would feel … almost as though I can’t make it without you.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes in pain. “I didn’t know what I was starting when I bit you the first couple of times. I didn’t remember. I still don’t remember much, but I know the bites tie you to me. That comforted me—that you were with me. But now, maybe you don’t want to be with me. If that’s what you’ve decided, tell me. Tell me now, and I’ll try to help you go.”

There was nothing from him for a long time. I felt as though I were drifting. My body wanted to go to sleep, demanded sleep, and somehow, I did doze a little. When he put his palm against my face, I jerked awake.

“I’m going to take you to one of the chimneys,” he said. “I’ll make a shelter for you there.”

“If you want to go,” I said, “you should tell me now.” I paused. “I won’t be able to stay awake long. And … Wright, if you don’t take this chance, I don’t think you’ll be able to leave me. Ever. I won’t be able to let you, and you couldn’t stand separation from me. I know that much. Even now, it’s probably hard for you to make the decision, but you should go if you want to go. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” he said.

“Wright, it is. You should—”

“No!” He shook his head. “Don’t tell me that. Do not tell me that!” He grasped my face between his hands, made me look at him.

“What shall I do?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Freedom, Wright. Now or never.”

“I don’t want to lose you. I truly don’t. I’ve only known you for a few days, but I know I want you with me.”

I kissed his hand, glad of his decision. It would have been hard to let him go—perhaps the hardest thing I could recall doing. I would have done it, but it would have been terrible. All I could do now was make things as safe as possible for both of us.

“Okay, then. Choose a good spot and build a shelter around me—something that won’t let the sun in.”

He walked around the ruin, stumbling and cursing now and then, but not falling. Eventually he found a reasonably intact little corner with two wall fragments still standing. That was better than a chimney because it was less of a potential trap. There was no part of it that I couldn’t break through if I had to. It might once have been part of a closet. I drifted off to sleep while he was cleaning the debris out of it. I awoke again when he lifted me and put me in the corner.

Once I had found a comfortable position, he walled me in with stones, pieces of charred wood, tree branches, and pipe. After a while the little shelter he was building was perfect for keeping the sun out. When he finished, he reached in through the small opening he’d left and woke me up again.

“Go home,” I told him, and before he could protest, I added, “Come back Sunday morning. I’ll have found something to eat by then. Deer, rabbits, something.”

“Just in case, I’ll bring you a steak or two.”

“All right.” I wouldn’t be wanting the steaks, but it had finally occurred to me that getting them and bringing them would make him feel better.

“What can we do to make you safer from this idiot?” he asked about the still-unconscious shooter.

“Take the gun. That will be enough.”

“He could knock this shelter down at high noon while you’re asleep.”

“If he does that, I’ll kill him. I’ll have no choice. I’ll get a nasty sunburn, and it will take me a little longer to heal, but that’s the worst. Let me sleep, Wright.”

I listened and heard him leave. He didn’t want to, but he left.

Two or three hours later, the man who’d shot me finally woke up. He coughed several times and cursed. That’s what woke me—the noise he made. Because I didn’t dare confront him yet, I kept quiet. He got up, stumbled fell, then staggered away, his uneven steps fading as he moved away from me. He didn’t seem to notice that his rifle was gone. And he didn’t come near my little enclosure at all.

I slept through the rest of the night and the day. By the time the sun went down, I was starving—literally. My body had been hard at work repairing itself, and now it had to have food. I pushed away the wall of rubble that Wright had built and stood up. I was trembling with hunger as I fastened the jeans that Wright had pulled up after he examined my leg but had left loose for comfort. I took a few deep breaths, then first limped, then walked, then jogged off in the one direction I didn’t smell human beings.

Hunting steadied me, focused me. And hunting was good because it meant I would eat soon.