The Immortal Rules (27 page)

It’s better this way,
I told myself, passing the barn. Soft murmurs and contented bleats came from within; the rest of the group was taking advantage of the unexpected stop, probably relieved not to be hiking through rabid-infested woods.
That was way too close,
I continued, hurrying past before anyone could see me.
What would you have done if Zeke found out? You think he could like you, if he knew what you really were?
A mental snort.
You saw how he was with the rabids. He’d put a stake in your heart or a bullet in your skull without thinking twice about it. He’d sell you out, just like Stick.

I came to the tiny woodshed in the shadow of the gravity-fed cistern, really nothing more than a three-sided wooden shelter with a tin roof. It was stacked high with split logs, and I loaded several into the rusty wheelbarrow sitting nearby, when I heard a soft moan.

Warily, I put a hand on my sword and waited, unmoving. It came again, the soft, hopeless sound of a human in pain. From the other side of the woodshed.

Still keeping a hand on the hilt, I edged around the building, ready to draw my weapon if necessary. When I saw what was making the noise, however, I dropped my arm. There was no need.

A large iron cage stood at the back of the woodshed. The bars were thick and close together, though far enough apart to see inside. The door was barred in two places from the outside, padlocked shut and wrapped in chains. Even the floor of the cage had iron bars running across it, separating the prisoner from the natural earth. A thin layer of straw had been spread over the ground, partially absorbing the smell of urine, iodine and blood.

Huddled under a blanket, curled up in the corner closest to the woodshed, a familiar, bearded face raised its head to stare at me.

I blinked. “Joe?” I whispered, recognizing the man Zeke and I had dragged back from the woods. “What are you doing in there?” I asked, appalled. I could smell the blood on him, the torn flesh under the bandages. He was still badly hurt and needed to be in a bed, or at least a room where he could be looked after. “Who put you in here?” I demanded, wrapping a fist around the bars. He stared at me with bleary eyes, and I backed away, fuming. “I’ll get Patricia,” I told him. “She’ll let you out. Just hang in there.”

“No,” Joe wheezed, holding out a hand. I stared at him, and he coughed, shuddering beneath his quilt. “No, it’s all right,” he continued when the spell had passed. “The boar savaged my leg pretty bad. I have to be locked up till they can be sure I don’t Turn.”

“They did this to you
on purpose?
” I came back, gripping the bars as I peered at him. “And you let them? What about your leg?”

“It’s been looked after as well as can be expected,” Joe replied, shrugging. “In the morning, someone will come and rebandage it. And it’s not as bad as it looks. I think I have a good chance of pulling through this one.”

I looked at his sallow, sweaty face, the pain glazing his eyes, and shook my head. “I still can’t believe they’d leave you in here like an animal. I’d be screaming and tearing the walls down, trying to get out.”

“I want to be here,” Joe insisted. “What if I die in the house and Turn before anyone notices? When everyone is asleep? I could kill my whole family. No.” He leaned back, drawing his blanket closer. “This is necessary. I’m not a danger to anyone here, and the family is safe. That’s all I care about.”

“Good man,” said a voice over my shoulder.

I whirled. Jeb stood at a corner of the cage, looking in, his sharp face impassive. The man moved like a vampire himself; I hadn’t even heard him approach.

“You see, Allison,” Jeb mused, though he wasn’t looking at me. “This is a man who is more concerned about the safety of his family, rather than his own short existence. In fact, everyone here understands what must be done to protect the whole, rather than a few individuals. That is how they have survived here so long.”

“You think locking an injured man up like a dog, with no treatment or help or medicine, is the best thing for him?”

Jeb’s steely eyes turned to me. “If that man’s soul is in danger of corruption, and his body is in danger of succumbing to the darkness, then he is no longer a man but a demon. And when the demon emerges, it is best to have it contained. For the safety of the untainted humans, yes, I do believe that is the best thing.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he overrode me. “What would
you
do differently?”

“I—” Jeb raised his eyebrows expectantly, and I glared at him. “I don’t know.”

“You and Ezekiel.” The old man shook his head. “Both of you refuse to see the world as it is. But that is not my problem. If you’ll excuse me, I must get to praying for this man’s soul. Perhaps it can yet be saved.”

He turned from me and bowed his head, speaking quietly. Inside the cage, Joe did the same. I retreated back to the woodshed, grabbing the wheelbarrow and filling it with wood, making sure to fling the logs so they clattered around in the noisiest way possible.

I knew, in a sick, twisted way, that Jeb was right. Any human bitten by a rabid, whether it was a dog or skunk or a rabid person, was in danger of Turning. It was different from becoming a vampire, where you had to drink your sire’s blood to become one. In my case, Kanin’s Master vampire blood had made me strong enough to overcome the disease, and he’d gotten to me immediately after I’d been attacked. Even then, I had been very lucky; most vampires still created rabids when they tried to make new offspring.

Rabidism, however, was much more potent and certain. Every case was different, Kanin had told me—usually it depended on the severity of the wound and the victim’s fortitude and will to fight off the infection. The virus spread quickly, accompanied by raging fever and a great deal of pain, before it finally killed the host. If left undisturbed, the body would rise again completely changed; a rabid, carrying the same deadly virus that had Turned it.

I knew the precautions the Archers had taken were necessary; even with one of their own, they could not afford the risk of him going rabid. But it still made my skin crawl, the thought of being locked in a cage, alone, waiting to die. I wondered what Zeke would think of it. Would he be as shocked and disturbed as I was? Or would he side with Jeb, claiming it was the right thing to do?

Zeke. I pushed the thought of him from my mind, hurling a log into the wheelbarrow so forcefully it bounced out and hit the wall of the shed. That moment we’d shared up on the platform, that couldn’t happen again. No matter how much I wanted it. I couldn’t allow him to get that close ever again. For both our sakes.

Ruth and Zeke were still up on the platform, sitting side by side, when I returned with the wheelbarrow full of logs and branches. I didn’t go back to the tower but watched as Larry demonstrated how to feed the fires by dropping the wood down several chutes that led straight into the flames, all without leaving the safety of the compound. I was impressed. Rather than stupidly scurrying outside to toss logs onto the flames and tempt any number of rabid hordes watching from the forest, they’d worked out an ingenious way of dealing with the problem in the least dangerous way possible. You had to admire their creativity.

After feeding the bonfires, I wandered back to the barn, wanting to avoid Zeke and Ruth on the platform. Maybe he could show her how to hold and shoot my rifle—she’d love that—and I could take over guarding the livestock. Whatever it took to stay away from him.

The barn was musty and warm as I opened the door and slipped inside, the livestock dozing contentedly. Most of the group was outside or in the farmhouse, helping with the watch or doing various chores around the compound. But Teresa, Silas and the youngest of the kids remained in the barn with the animals. Old Silas dozed in a corner, covered in blankets, snores coming from his open mouth. Teresa sat nearby, mending a quilt and humming softly to herself. She smiled and nodded at me when I came in.

“Allison.” Caleb emerged from one of the stalls and walked up to me, shy little Bethany trailing behind him, clutching a bottle in a grubby fist. Caleb held a spotted baby goat in his arms, and it was almost too much for him to handle, bleating and struggling weakly. Quickly, I knelt and took the animal from him, holding it against my chest. It calmed somewhat but still cried out pitifully.

“It doesn’t have a mommy.” Caleb sounded close to tears, wiping his face and leaving a streak of mud across one cheek. “We have to feed it, but it won’t drink its bottle. It keeps crying, but it doesn’t want the milk, and I don’t know what it wants.”

“Here,” I said, holding out my hand, and Bethany gave me the bottle. Sitting against the wall, I settled the tiny creature in my lap, as the two human kids watched anxiously. For a moment, I felt a prick of irritation that Ruth should be here doing this, not me, but then I focused on the task at hand. I had only a vague idea of what to do, having never seen a goat before, much less held one, but I’d have to make it work.

I pinched a drop of milk onto the nipple and waited until the goat bleated again before sliding it into its mouth. The first two times, the stubborn kid shook its head and cried louder than ever, but the third time, it finally realized what I was offering. Clamping its jaws around the bottle, it started drinking in earnest, gurgling through the milk, and my audience clapped in relief.

Before I knew what was happening, Caleb sat down on one side of me, Bethany on the other, and leaned against my arm. I stiffened, holding myself rigid, but they didn’t seem to notice my discomfort, and the kid on my lap cried greedily when I didn’t hold the bottle up far enough. Resigned, I leaned back, watching the three young creatures around me, trying not to breathe in their scent or listen to their hearts. Teresa looked over at me and smiled, and I shrugged helplessly.

“You know,” I muttered, mostly to keep my mind distracted, so I wouldn’t think of blood or hearts or how hungry I was getting, “I think this little guy needs a name, if he doesn’t have one already What do you think?”

Caleb and Bethany agreed. “What about Princess?” Bethany suggested.

“Stupid,” Caleb said instantly. “That’s a girl’s name.”

She stuck out her tongue, and Caleb returned the gesture. I watched the kid suckle at the bottle, milk dribbling down his chin. He was mostly white, except for a few black splotches on his back legs and one large circle over his eye. It made him look like a bandit or a pirate.

“What about Patch?” I mused.

They clapped in delight. Both thought this was a perfect name, and Bethany even kissed Patch on his furry head, which the goat ignored. After a moment of watching him guzzle milk, Caleb suddenly let out an explosive sigh and slumped against me.

“I don’t want to leave,” he muttered, sounding tired and world-weary even for one so young. “I don’t want to keep looking for Eden anymore. I’d rather stay here.”

“Me, too,” Bethany mumbled, but she was half asleep now, curled up into my side.

Caleb reached up and scratched Patch on the shoulder, making its skin twitch as if it was shooing off a fly. “Allie, do you think there’ll be goats in Eden?” he mused.

“I’m sure there will be,” I answered, holding up the bottle so the kid could get the last drops. “Maybe you could even have a few of your own.”

“I’d like that,” Caleb murmured. “I hope we get there soon, then.”

Not long after, the bottle was empty, and all three were asleep, curled up on my lap or leaning against my ribs. Teresa had also dozed off, her head against her chin, the quilt fallen beside her. It was very quiet in the barn, except for the livestock shifting in their sleep, and the beating of the three hearts surrounding me.

Bethany suddenly slumped over, her head falling to my leg, her golden hair spilling over my thigh. I stared at her. Flickering lamplight danced along her pale little neck, as she sighed and pressed closer, murmuring in her dreams.

My fangs slid out. Her heartbeat was suddenly very loud in my ears; I could hear it, pulsing in her wrist, her throat. My stomach felt hollow, empty, and her skin was warm on my leg.

Brushing her hair aside, I slowly leaned forward.

Chapter 16

No!
Closing my eyes, I jerked back, thumping my head against the wall. The baby goat let out a startled bleat, then tucked its nose beneath its hindquarters with a sigh. Caleb and Bethany slept on, unaware how close they had come to being food.

Horrified, I looked around for an escape route. I couldn’t keep this up. The Hunger was slowly taking over, and it wouldn’t be long before I gave in to temptation. I needed to feed, before it grew too strong to ignore.

Gently, I extracted myself from the sleeping kids and returned the newly christened Patch to his pen, where he promptly fell asleep. Once free, I slipped outside and leaned against the barn, pondering the inevitable question. It was time. That had been way too close. Who was I going to feed from?

Not the kids. Never. I was not so inhuman that I would draw blood from a sleeping child. Teresa and Silas were so old, though, too weak to lose any blood, and I was
not
going to bite them in front of two sleeping children. Jake and Darren were on guard duty, and Ruth was with Zeke.

Zeke was definitely out of the question.

That left Dorothy the crazy woman, who was in the farmhouse gossiping with Martha, who didn’t go to bed until midnight, apparently, and Jebbadiah Crosse.

Yeah, right. I might as well just shoot myself in the face than go anywhere near Jeb.

I growled in frustration. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. When had I gotten so close to the people I was supposed to be feeding from?

It always starts out that way.
Kanin’s voice echoed in my mind, quietly knowing.
Noble intentions, honor among new vampires. Vows to not harm humans, to take only what is needed, to not hunt them like sheep through the night. But it becomes harder and harder to remain on their level, to hold on to your humanity, when all you can see them as is food.

“Dammit,” I whispered, covering my eyes with a hand. How did Kanin do it? I tried to remember, thinking back to our time in the Fringe. He had some sort of code, a type of moral honor system, that he used when feeding off unsuspecting victims. He left something behind—like the shoes—payment for the harm his actions would bring.

I couldn’t do that now. I didn’t have anything I could give. True, I was helping out, taking the night watch and all, but that was more of a group effort. We were all pitching in to help.

But, I did save that man’s life…

Guilt and disgust stabbed at me. How could I even think about preying on a weak, caged human? Earlier tonight, I’d been horrified to see him locked up like a beast, and now I was thinking of feeding off him? Maybe Kanin was right. Maybe I was a monster, just like he said.

I could hear him now, his deep voice echoing in my head, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.
Make your choice, Allison,
he would say, calm and unruffled.
Will you prey on those you consider friends and companions, or a stranger who already owes you his life? Know that each path is evil; you must decide which one is the lesser of the two.

“Damn you,” I muttered to the empty air. Figment Kanin didn’t reply, shimmering into nothingness; he already knew what path I was going to choose.

* * *

I
WATCHED
J
EBBADIAH
C
ROSSE
finish praying over the wounded man, watched him stride back to the farmhouse, his severe form cutting a rigid path through the darkness. I watched the man in the cage, waited for his coughing and shifting to stop, for his raspy breathing to slow, becoming heavy and deep.

When he was snoring quietly, I glided from the shadows along the wall, walking quickly to the woodshed and snatching the key from where it hung on its nail. Silently, I removed the iron bar across the door, unlocked the padlock and removed the chains, being careful not to clink them against the bars. Carefully, being cautious that the door didn’t creak, I eased it open.

Joe Archer lay slumped in the corner, covered in blankets, his body curled into itself to conserve heat. His leg, heavily bandaged and reeking of blood and alcohol, lay at an awkward angle.

Are you really going to do this?

I shoved the voice aside, burying my feelings of horror, guilt and disgust. I didn’t want to, but it was necessary. I didn’t dare go into the farmhouse; with so many people under one roof, I didn’t want to creep into a room only to be discovered by a light sleeper or someone getting up to use the bathroom. I thought of Caleb and Bethany, Zeke and Darren. If I didn’t do this, they might be the ones in my sights next. I could kill them if I didn’t feed soon. The cage was isolated, out of the way, and no one would be coming to check on him for a while. Better a stranger than someone I knew, someone I actually cared about.

Besides, he owed me for saving his life.

If that’s what you want to tell yourself. Let’s get this over with, then.

Joe stirred in his sleep and coughed, his snores faltering. Quickly, before I had more second thoughts, I stepped up beside him and knelt, easing the collar of his coat aside. His throat, bared to the moonlight, pulsed softly. My fangs lengthened, the Hunger rising up like a dark tide. As the human groaned, eyelids fluttering, I leaned forward and sank my teeth into his neck, right below his jaw.

He jerked, but relaxed instantly, succumbing to the near delirium of a vampire’s bite. As blood began flowing into my mouth, the Hunger drank it greedily, demanding more, always more. I kept a tight leash on it this time, fighting to keep my senses, to not lose myself to the heat and power flowing into me.

Three swallows. That was all I’d allow myself to take, though my Hunger was raging at me for more. Reluctantly, I drew my fangs from the human’s skin, sealing the wounds before stepping back. He groaned, half asleep and dead to the world, and I slipped out of the cage, replacing the locks and chains as quickly as I could.

“Allison?”

Just as I was replacing the last bar, footsteps crunched behind me and Zeke’s familiar voice floated over my shoulder. I turned, and he stood a few paces behind me, a thermos in one hand, a metal cup in the other.

“Here you are,” he said, not accusingly, though he seemed puzzled. “You never came back after Ruth left. Are you still angry with me?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring the question. I wasn’t angry, of course, but maybe it was better if he thought I was. He nodded to himself, as if expecting it.

“They’re getting dinner ready in the barn,” he continued, holding up the mug. “If you want something, I’d head over soon, before Caleb and Matthew eat all the soup.”

I nodded and turned away, watching Joe sleep through the bars of the cage. “Did you know about this?” I asked, hearing him move up beside me.

“Jeb told me.” Zeke knelt close to the bars and reached through, shaking the unconscious man. He stirred with a groan, opening his eyes blearily, and Zeke held up the thermos. “Hey,” he murmured, unscrewing the top and pouring out a dark, steaming liquid. “Thought you could use this. It’s black, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thanks, boy,” Joe wheezed, reaching for the mug. His hands shook, and he nearly dropped it. “Damn, I’m worse off than I thought. How long until morning?”

“A couple hours,” Zeke replied gently, handing the cup of soup through the bars, as well. “This will be over soon. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’ll live.” Joe sipped at the coffee and smiled. “At least for another day.”

Zeke smiled back, like he really believed it, and suddenly I had to get out of there. Spinning on my heel, I hurried away—away from the caged, doomed human who had been prey to me moments before. Away from the boy who showed me just how monstrous I truly was.

“Hey! Allison, wait!”

I heard Zeke jogging after me and I whirled on him, suddenly furious.
“Go away,”
I snarled, managing, barely, not to show fangs. “Why do you keep hanging around? What are you trying to prove, preacher boy? Do you think you can save me, too?”

He blinked, utterly bewildered. “What?”

“Why do you try so hard?” I continued, glaring disdainfully, holding on to my anger through sheer force of will. “You’re always giving things away, putting yourself at risk, making sure others are happy. It’s stupid and dangerous. People aren’t worth saving, Ezekiel. Someday that person you help is going to stick a knife in your back or slit your throat from behind, and you won’t even see it coming.”

His blue eyes flashed. “How ignorant do you think I am?” he demanded. “Yeah, the world’s an awful place, and it’s full of people who would as soon put a knife in my back as shake my hand. Yeah, I could stick my neck out for them, and they’d throw me to the rabids without a second thought. Don’t think I haven’t seen it before, Allison. I’m not
that
stupid.”

“Then why keep trying? If Jeb thinks this is hell, why even bother?”

“Because there has to be more than this!” Zeke paused, ran both hands through his hair, and looked at me sadly. “Jeb has pretty much given up on humanity,” he said in a soft voice. “He sees corruption and vampires and rabids, and thinks that this world is done. The only thing he cares about is getting to Eden, saving the few lives he can. Anyone else—” he shrugged “—they’re on their own. Even people like Joe.” He nodded back toward the woodshed. “He’ll pray for him, but he keeps himself distant, detached.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.” Zeke looked me straight in the eye as he said it, unembarrassed and unshakable. “Jeb might’ve lost faith, but I haven’t. Maybe I’m wrong,” he continued with a shrug, “but I’m going to keep trying. It’s what keeps me human. It’s what separates me from them, all of them, rabids, demons, vampires, everything.”

Vampires.
That stung a lot more than I thought it would. “That’s great for you,” I said bitterly. “But I’m not like that. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe humans have anything good in them. Maybe you have a nice little family here, but I’ve been on my own too long to trust anyone.”

Zeke’s expression softened, which was not what I wanted to see. I wanted to hurt him, make him angry, but he just watched me with those solemn blue eyes and took a step forward. “I don’t know what you’ve gone through,” he said, holding my gaze, “and I can’t speak for everyone, but I promise you’re safe here. I would never hurt you.”

“Stop it,” I hissed, backing away. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I would if you’d let me,” Zeke shot back, then crossed the space between us in two long strides, gripping my upper arms. Not hard; I could’ve jerked back if I wanted, but I was so shocked that I froze, looking up into his face.

“I will if you give me a chance,” he murmured. “And you’re wrong—I know a few things about you. I know you and Ruth don’t get along, I know Caleb adores you, and I know you can handle a sword better than anyone I’ve seen before.” He smiled then, achingly handsome, his eyes liquid blue pools as he gazed into mine. “You’re a fighter, you question everything you don’t agree with, and you’re probably the only one here who’s not terrified of Jeb. And I’ve never met anyone like you. Ever.”

“Let go,” I whispered. I could hear his heartbeat, thudding loud in his chest, and was suddenly terrified he would hear my lack of one. He complied, sliding his hands down my arms, holding the tips of my fingers before dropping them. But his eyes never left my face.

“I know you’re scared,” he continued in a quiet voice, still close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. The Hunger stirred, but it was weaker this time, sated for now. “I know we just met, and we’re all strangers, and you keep yourself apart for your own reasons. But I also know I haven’t…felt this way about anyone before. And I think…I hope…you feel the same, because that was really hard for me to say. So…” He reached out again, taking my hand. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

I wanted to. For the second time that night, I wanted to kiss him, standing there so openly in the moonlight, his bangs falling jaggedly into his eyes. Zeke leaned forward, and for just a moment, I allowed him to step close, to cup the back of my head as his lips moved down toward mine. His pulse throbbed, his scent surrounding me, but this time, I only saw his face.

No, this can’t happen!
I shoved him, hard. He staggered backward and fell, landing on his back in the dirt. I heard his sharp intake of breath, saw the shocked, wounded look in his eyes, and almost turned to flee.

I didn’t. Against my will, against everything screaming at me not to do this, I drew my sword and stepped up beside him, pointing it at his chest. Zeke’s eyes went wide at the blade, gleaming inches from his heart, and he froze.

“Let me make this as clear as I can,” I told him, holding the hilt tightly so my hands wouldn’t shake. “Don’t do that again. I don’t trust you, preacher boy. I don’t trust anyone. And I’ve been stabbed in the back too many times for that to change, do you understand?”

Zeke’s eyes were angry, wounded stars, but he nodded. I sheathed my blade, turned and walked back to the farmhouse, feeling his gaze on me all the way. But he didn’t follow.

Dawn wasn’t far. I went back to the empty room and closed the door, being sure to latch it this time. My eyes burned, and I clamped down on my emotions before they spilled over my cheeks.