Bloodlands (42 page)
Authors: Christine Cody
“Right. I just had a moment.” But there’d be more and more moments as the years wore on, and we both knew it.
The metal-gray of the sky made Chaplin’s brown coat look drab as we darted out of the shadows and into the safe cover behind rocks or more Joshua trees.
It’ll be a long time before everyone forgets what happened back at the first homestead,
Chaplin said, chewing on his words.
Chaplin said, chewing on his words.
“My lack of control made us vulnerable to Stamp, so I earned the wariness.”
Before the big showdown, I’d killed a few of Stamp’s men when they’d encroached upon our territory, threatening us. We’d suspected they wanted our aquifer-enhanced dwellings, and, in my anonymous were-form, I’d made sure they didn’t get them. Then Gabriel had appeared one night, wounded, and Chaplin had invited him into our home. My dog had been under his sway, but Chaplin had overcome it, manipulating Gabriel into confronting Stamp for our sakes. But I, and the rest of the community, hadn’t been able to stomach his sacrifice, and we’d gone to the showdown to defend him.
So if you went right back to the beginning, the death and destruction had all been because of me.
Mariah, there’s always . . .
Chaplin began, then cut himself off.
Chaplin began, then cut himself off.
I wasn’t dumb enough to believe that my dog had an unfinished thought. He was luring me into something. Intel Dogs had been genetically bred and trained to be practical and lethal when the time called for it. He was my best weapon and, sometimes, my worst.
“Spit it out,” I said. A sand-rabbit leaped out of some brush in front of us, causing a rustle.
Everyone ahead of us startled toward the sound, even if they were under the cover of the shadows, but when they saw it was only a little flit of an animal, they moved at a faster clip. Anything could be a Shredder or even another preter who’d deserted the hubs. We didn’t need to be discovered by either one.
My heart was blipping in my veins because of the interruption. “You gonna say it, Chaplin?”
I could’ve sworn my dog smiled at my vinegar. It meant that I was fully back to being human. For now, anyway.
There’s always hope for a cure,
he said.
he said.
And that was all, but that final word had the power to give me pause.
A were-cure—that was what he meant, and he’d been mentioning it in private ever since we’d moved into our new digs. He hadn’t ever expanded on his thoughts, but it was as if he’d been watering a seed every time he muttered it. Although it was a ridiculous idea, his comments had made me think. They also made me ache that much more, and not in my joints and muscles, either.
“There’s no cure for monsters.” I’d discussed this with Gabriel before he even knew what I was, and Chaplin had been in the same damned room. Obviously, this rebuttal bore repeating. “Stories about cures are just legends, and every bad guy who doesn’t believe that monsters were eradicated probably uses the rumors to lure what’s left of our kind into the open. That way, they can beat the location of any hidden preter communities out of the idiots who take the bait.”
What if you’re wrong about there being a real cure?
Chaplin asked.
Chaplin asked.
And there it was—he was about to grow that seed into something I’d have to confront right here and now, fresh after losing control to the point where I hadn’t even thought to hide while I was running outside.
“Dad tried every panacea he could think of on me,” I said, “and nothing worked. And if he couldn’t figure it out, who could?”
He wasn’t the only scientist round, Mariah. Maybe Gabriel was right when he said that there was such a sharp drop in preters in the hubs because a cure was found.
Up ahead, hills rose out of the ground like the curves of a serpent’s spine. Pucci and Hana had already run ahead to access a trapdoor to a tunnel that led to our homes, but it looked to me as if Gabriel had slowed down before going inside. The moonlight skimmed over his beaten white shirt and pants. His close-cropped hair looked darker than I knew it actually was, and his face, with that slightly crooked nose, had gone back to its normal stillness—like the façade of an abandoned house, the windows gray and cloudy.
His head was cocked.
Was he listening?
His possible interest lit something in me. Hope.
Actual hope.
If I improved my disposition, would that make him look at me differently? Would he feel whatever he’d started to feel for me back before the truth about Abby had come out?
Sorrow and anger began to simmer deep in my belly, but I tamped it down before it resulted in another change . . . and in more trouble.
More than anyone, I needed some kind of cure, and the only one I could think of right now was for me to end my life. I’d already tried that after Gabriel had found out the truth about me, but he’d stopped me for some reason. Now, I still figured he would’ve been better off.
I realized that, maybe, Chaplin was really going at this subject right now because Gabriel was near, and my response might be affected by that. It was also becoming more obvious that my dog might’ve asked me to come to this new homestead not only because he loved me, but because he’d wanted to lead me to accept the idea of a cure, all while making it seem as if I’d agreeably arrived there with minimal assistance.
Too smart for his own good, this dog.
If there
is
a cure,
Chaplin said,
what would you do to find it?
is
a cure,
Chaplin said,
what would you do to find it?
“If it were true, I’d anything.” The comment was out before I could even think, but I knew with all my heart that it was what I’d been feeling for a long time now.
And if the cure required more than just swallowing the contents of some vial?
“What do you mean?”
I mean, what if it involved conditioning, Mariah? Ultrashock therapy. Mental tooling—
I recalled how Gabriel had tried to slay me after hearing about Abby’s death. How, beneath his words and actions, he hated me even now because I was a killer who couldn’t help herself.
I suppose, in life, there’s always a moment where you run into the wall of yourself. That was what I was feeling now, the crash of knowing there’s nowhere else you can go because you can’t turn back.
“As I mentioned,” I said, “I’d do whatever it takes.”
Up ahead, Gabriel glanced partway over his shoulder until he met my gaze.
His eyes . . . red glows in the night.
I held my breath, then used my energies to think to him, willing his vampire mind to pick up my inner voice.
Believe me, Gabriel. I want to be better.
His only answer was to turn round and slip into the cavern entrance, leaving me behind with an Intel Dog who gave me a sympathetic look, then stranded me, too.
Other books
Festival of Fear by Graham Masterton
Camp Confidential 03 - Grace's Twist by Melissa J Morgan
The Birthgrave by Tanith Lee
Way Station by Clifford D. Simak
Sunday Roasts by Betty Rosbottom
Dying for Justice by L. J. Sellers
Fire Arrow by Edith Pattou
Fire and Forget by Matt Gallagher
Dark Hunter by Andy Briggs
Train's Clash (The Last Riders Book 9) by Jamie Begley