A Little Undead (3 page)

The
apartment wasn't much. Small, dark, dusty, with a closet-sized
bathroom and low-flow shower, but it was
mine!
I
could make a life here, no adoptive parents looking in on me or
superstitious frontiersmen half shunning me. I could make friends,
throw (small) house parties... maybe even have a boyfriend? The
opportunities Boston was offering left me nearly drunk with
anticipation.

However, there was one drawback
that made me draw my paper-wrapped knife from my backpack. I'd had
it ever since I could remember, one of the belongings given back to
me when I awoke with amnesia in the refugee-built village of Haven.
It was almost like a teddy bear to me after all these years, a
fragment of a forgotten past. Clutching it to my chest I fell
backwards onto the sheetless bed, flopping around til I found a semi
comfortable set of springs. Staring at the ceiling I contemplated
the distance between this apartment and my sister's. It was probably
best we grew apart for a while. Sometimes I worried I was a little
obsessed with my little physics-genius sister.

She'd stuck with me from the
start, helping me remember how to speak, how to wait in line and not
snarl at anyone besides her that came too close to me, cute little
five-year-old that she was. Many of her tales of our travels
together were dismissed as childish exaggerations or fever dreams
from the illness we had on our arrival to the village. Still, I had
apparently kept us both alive somehow, and even deprived of my
memories she felt like a piece of me I never wanted to give up. I'd
grown perhaps a tad overprotective of the little tyke. Even now that
she looked older than I did my stomach tensed up a little when she
was out of my sight.

Well, like she said, she was a
college girl now – even if she was two years younger than the
norm. Besides, I still had my ants to keep me company. Drawing out
a soda bottle half full of sand and absolutely buzzing with ants I
tsked and dropped in a bit of stale bread. As upset as they were at
the moment from the rough traveling I knew they'd have their nest
right as rain in a day or two. Other people might find them creepy,
but they were remarkably relaxing to watch once you got used to them.
Almost like a living lava lamp. Besides, they cost an awful lot
less to feed than a dog.

Looking at the bare walls I
found myself suddenly stymied. As excited as I was to have my own
apartment, putting it all together tonight was a bit daunting, even
if all my napping on the bus left me sleepless. Relegating the task
to the following day I threw a few shirts on top of the bed as a
pseudo-sheet and tucked my backpack underneath my head. Pillows,
after all, were not an easy thing to pack. Drawing out my textbook
on Boston's laws and regulations for police officers I settled in for
one last read-through. It was only a day and a half before my job
started, and I had to be absolutely ready. Knife laid to the side
but still within easy reach I focused my eyes in the dim light.
Night owl that I was, an unruly energy in my limbs swiftly lead me to
pace across the brown-carpeted floor, but I kept my eyes firmly fixed
on the pages. It wasn't until an hour before dawn that I slept.

When I awoke the window screen
was covered in snow. One last spring flurry before the rains began I
thought, until I attempted to open the door. A drift nearly as tall
as myself had shut the door so firmly that I was forced to climb out
the window to beg the landlady for a shovel. With half the day gone
already I set off into the markets of Boston, huddled in ratty old
jacket I'd never quite grown out of. Along with a few canned soups I
found some nice bargains on a pair of sheets, a pillow, and an old
plastic chair. I might have looked slightly ridiculous carrying a
plastic chair on my head through the heavy snow but it was a march of
victory.

The apartment's phone was
blinking on my return. After a couple false starts I remembered that
the sideways triangle meant play. “Honey, I've got a little
bad news.” The recording had a little static but it was easily
recognizable as my mother. “An officer called saying your
information was delayed by the storm. They want you to come in on
the fifth, instead.” A whole week away... Now I really wished
I had waited a little longer before going shopping. I'd much rather
have a loaf of bread than a chair, after all. “If you need
some money for food just call.” If it wouldn't be terribly
melodramatic I'd say I would rather starve. The last thing I wanted
after finally gaining a chance at financial independence and my own
apartment was to have a debt hanging over my head. Besides, it
wasn't as if my adoptive parents had much to spare, and Holly's
scholarship only covered tuition and housing.

I'd get by somehow. I just had
to avoid looking so much like a famished waif as to be forcibly
thrown in an orphanage.

Chapter
2:
Distress

My father always said to head for the island. He
told me, “If anything happens, take your mother and sister to
the island.” He always had predictions of how the world would
end. It's a shame that when it finally did, there was no island to
go to – the sea just swallowed it up.

–
Anonymous
journal

Eight days later...

My clothes adhered to my skin as
I dragged myself from the sea. My high heels had me tripping in
seconds, the extra water-weight doing me no favors as I tried to pick
my way across the pebbled beach. Despite the growing threat that
thrashed through the water behind me there was no helping it, I had
to stop. In panicked haste tore off my shoes, buckles snapping in
the progress. Grabbing my broken heels out of habit I kicked myself
into a run towards the city. Wind nearly blew me back as I reached
the top of the bank, but I lowered my head and kept my course.

'This isn't right.'
What few lit windows remained at this late hour were drawn shut,
curtains and shades dimming the light until all color had fled. What
little light the crescent moon provided offered little help here in
the alleys. Abandoned trash and grass grown through cracked pavement
were mere silhouettes, grasping shadows waiting to pull me into the
night and never let go. '
Wake up, wake up!'
Ankle
twisting as my b
are foot slid on decades-old crumbling
pavement I tumbled into a roll before regaining my footing. “He–!”
I tried to scream for help, but all that came out was a soft hiss of
air followed by nothing at all. Jaws tightening against the pain, I
forced myself to run faster and faster. Bruised feet slapped against
the pavement as I fought to maintain my rhythm. I tried harder to
force out a shout but my ribs felt pinched, as if glued to my spine.
'
What's wrong with me?'

The
air burned at my flesh, wicking away the salt water and with it the
heat from my feverish skin. His blood roared inside me still, a
fading unholy fire in my veins flaring against the biting wind.
'
This can't be real!'
But
I knew there was no waking up from this nightmare. I knew that
somehow, that filthy blood was all that kept me going. The ache in
my feet alternated with sudden stabbing pain whenever a pebble saw
fit to bar my way. The useless pair of heels still swung from my
fingers leaving bruises on my skin as my pumping arms helped
propelled me through abandoned alleyways. I wanted to scream. I
wanted to rip open my veins until all of the madness drained away.

'I'm missing something. I
need... air?'
I took a breath
and felt my lungs filled up like balloons, forcefully and seemingly
endlessly. '
How is it possible to forget to breathe?'
A few cars chugged past just out of sight, televisions blared in
apartments, and dogs in untold numbers howled around the city, wary
of the predator that prowled the night. It sounded almost normal and
for just a moment I stopped. Surely it was safe here. He wouldn't
follow me further, so close to people, to where normality was a rule
and not a suggestion. But then I heard it, the thumping of padded
paws on pavement, claws scurrying as he skidded around the corner
behind me.

My head started to turn
backwards. '
No!'
I couldn't
let myself be distracted now. If I faltered for a moment...
I threw my shoes at him as I
lunged into a run, hope rising as I heard him stumble a half-step.
It wasn't enough. A pebble
struck the back of my legs from his furious advance and I knew I was
out of time. More than that, I was out of room. A fence twice my
height loomed before me, barbed wire stretching out from its top
underscoring that this was the end. Still, an instinct rose within
me, some subtle notion that there was still a way out. I had been
running fast, inhumanly fast. Perhaps there was still a chance.

.
I summoned what strength
remained to me, legs flexing as I prepared for this last gamble.
'Here goes nothing.'
Gravel
crunched beneath my feet as I jumped,
not quite concealing the
sound of claws behind me as the wolf prepared his own leap. '
Higher,
higher!'
I twisted desperately as my jump reached the end of its
arc but for all my exertions I couldn't keep myself airborne. The
jagged barbed wire that tipped the fence cut at my exposed legs, my
body contorting itself away from the pain as my throat twisted in a
breathless scream. The wolf rattled the fence even as I thudded into
the ground shoulder-first, his growls deep and threatening, paying no
sympathy as I fought back tears.

The skin on my shoulder was
shredded, the pain of it forcing me to suck in a breath to stifle
another scream as I pulled away the torn fabric. What little light
there was showed black blood oozing it's way out of the ragged wound.
A cautious inspection with my finger came back gritty with sand and
oozing plasma. Salt from the drying seawater stung in my cuts, but
with luck it would help keep away infection. My legs, at least,
still burned with enough adrenaline that the pain was manageable. So
long as I had the threat of a rabid wolf behind me I should have the
ability to continue walking

I hissed at him, startling
myself with the primal sound as it tickled like a wild thing in my
mouth. “I hate werewolves.” It was such a silly thing to
say, seeing as werewolves shouldn't exist, but it summed up my
feelings perfectly. A thought struck me. “I can talk again?”
That pinched feeling in my chest was gone as if it had never been.
“Huh,” I blew out a quick gust of air, perplexed. '
I'm
too tired for this.'
The
obvious answer, that I had simply forgotten to breathe, gnawed at me,
but normal people didn't just stop breathing for no reason. '
Normal
people don't bite a man's neck and drink his blood either.'
Still
in a crouch, I pounded my fist against the ground. “No!”
'Normal people don't have fangs.'
“Normal
people don't talk to themselves either,” I whispered, pushing
myself to my feet.

Watching
as he dipped up and down like a cat trying to gauge a jump I reached
into the side of my skirt, grabbing the hilt of my knife. One quick
pull and the waxed paper covering the blade was off. Though I had
always had great night-vision, the dyed-black knife was barely even a
shadow to my eyes. The dark alleyway was apparently no obstacle to
his sight, however, as it was apparent from his sudden stillness and
rumbling growl that he had seen me draw the weapon.
The wolf
staring menacingly at me from beyond the fence was until recently one
Alex Whitman, my human almost-boyfriend. Now he was noticeably less
human and doing nothing to improve my opinion of werewolves or my
choice in men. The knife, normally a comforting presence, now felt
heavy and terribly dangerous. Could I actually use it? Fend him off
if he jumped the fence?

“
Alex?” The snarl
sent me scurrying back as I tried to still my racing heart. Was it
still him inside or did only the wolf remain? I readjusted my blouse
nervously as I waited for some indication he was more than just a
ravenous beast, but none was forthcoming. “Do you know why
I...” I faded off, unsure what to ask him, uncertain I even
wanted to hear the answer. As he loped off I reluctantly forced
myself back onto my shredded feet. I'd rather be elsewhere if the
currently homicidal werewolf decided to circle around.

“
Ow!” Pain spiked in
my shoulder as the impact of my first step traveled upwards through
my body. I shouldn't have stopped moving. Before, the pain had at
least been a distant thing. Now I kept having to glance down to make
sure it wasn't hot coals my feet stood on and not cold tar. '
One
foot in front of the other,
' I thought to myself, gripping my arm
tight enough to bruise to keep it from jerking. Step by step I forced
myself faster and faster, thighs working overtime as shock absorbers
to soften the blows to my feet as the pavement ripped at my soft
soles.

It had started out innocently
enough. After several long days of playing handywoman for Cassandra
I'd taken my hard-won cash out to buy a cheeseburger (hopefully made
mostly from beef) and there he was. I'd been twelve the last time I
had a crush at first sight, and so with a little apprehension I sat
down with him on an informal date.